Beautiful
by Jenico
Summary: After Kurt's father passed away from his second heart attack, Kurt dropped everything he knew in Ohio to move to LA where he could pursue the career of a famous model. There he met Blaine: someone who would change his view on life altogether. AU.
1. Chapter 1

_Kurt is a famous model who runs into someone in the supermarket..._

_So basically, canon stopped off at 2x05(ish) and went AU from there - meaning, yes, Blaine and Kurt never met - but there will be few spoilers up and through season 3._

_Warnings: It is rated M for a reason. There is constant strong language, including instances of homophobic slurs, male/male sexual situations, (very) brief mentions of eating disorders, and one intense, violent scene._

_Disclaimers: I don't own Glee, its characters, or any recognizable plot. Also, the title is taken from the song from Christina Aguilera and will include some lyrics, which I also do not own._

_And here goes..._

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><p><em>"Everyday is so wonderful<br>Then suddenly, it's hard to breathe" _

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><p>Kurt Hummel absolutely hated himself. There was simply no other way to put it. Of course, it didn't start off this way. In fact, Kurt Hummel used to be wildly in love with himself, almost, if not all the way, to the point where he couldn't fathom ever loving anything or anyone more.<p>

And somewhere, in between the modeling contracts, the magazine spreads, the terrible nose job he'd gotten at the age of eighteen, and the God-awful sculpture of himself in his own living room, he began to hate himself.

It wasn't just that he hated looking at himself, which he absolutely detested; it was almost as if he couldn't even stand being in the same room as himself. The way he treated everyone as if they were below him in some way came naturally to him, but when he was alone, he could almost feel himself being talked about behind his back. And he knew he deserved it. That made him hate himself more than anything.

But everyday, it only got worse. Because everyday, when Kurt got out of bed and stepped into his steaming hot shower to get ready for a day of photo shoots, runways, and paparazzi, he let himself become someone else. Someone who didn't care about other people because he didn't have to. He hired people to care about _him_.

And perhaps that's why, when Kurt met a boy who he didn't have to literally pay to give a fuck about him, he turned away. People didn't love him because he was a good person or because he made them happy. People loved him because he was beautiful. Hell, it was common that people loved Kurt _until _they met him.

It was a complete accident that they even met each other in the first place. Kurt didn't shop for groceries. His assistant had an assistant that did that for him. The last time he could even remember walking into a Trader Joe's was in high school, before Bernard Hennet from Elite Model Management saw him buying a pair of boxer-briefs at TJ Maxx and asked him if he'd ever considered modeling, (to which of course Kurt had responded no, that he didn't think he'd ever be good enough for it, even though it was something he'd dreamt about a few too many times. Hennet had smirked like he'd thrown the line in and already a 120 pound, 5'11 fish had grabbed a hold of the bait. He'd slipped a business card in Kurt's hand, made sure he knew that auditions were being held the following Saturday, and left the fish to suffocate.)

But Kurt _needed_ his organic mango juice. And waiting three hours for Paul, his assistant to get back from his flight from NYC wasn't something he was willing to do. So he sucked up his pride, put on a Alexander Wang sweater, despite the early-August heat, and drove to the supermarket to buy his own damn juice.

When he got there, already in a terrible mood due to the lack of other people doing things for him, he stuck up his nose and mentally spat at the feet of anyone who dared look at him as if he were just another one of them. If there was anything Kurt hated more than himself, it was being treated like a working-class, low-income commoner.

But he was just a model, and even though in the fashion world, this meant fabulous parties and wines and butlers, he knew that not everyone recognized him all the time. He was no Tyra Banks to say the least.

Folding his arms across his chest, Kurt decided to buy some other things since he was already at the store anyway. But not having done anything like this in a good couple years, he wasn't exactly the most prepared to know what he was doing. His shopping sprees were usually limited to clothes, shoes and colognes.

"That's a tangerine, just so you know," Kurt heard a voice say next to him, and he flipped his head around to see a shorter, scruffier man with gelled back dark curls and vividly hazel eyes standing beside him.

"I know what it is," Kurt rolled his eyes adamantly before setting down the fruit that was in his hands and grazing over the others in front of him.

"I was just saying," the other man continued, not at all respecting the boundaries that Kurt had mentally set up between him and any other human being, "because as similar as they look, tangerines just don't taste the same as oranges."

Kurt rolled his eyes, not wanting to pay any attention to this person, but when he was annoyed, he made sure everyone that was annoying him knew. "How do you even know what I'm looking for?"

"Oh, well, from what's already in your cart, I was guessing that you're making a mimosa, and it's just not as good with tangerines."

Kurt gave the man a dumbfounded expression, not really believing that someone could be so nosy and inconsiderate to his needs to be left alone.

"Trust me. I've tried it." The man seemed too genuine for Kurt's liking, and it made him nervous just being around him. When he stuck out a hand, Kurt lost any power that was stopping him from turning into a total asshole. "I'm Blaine, by the way."

"Um," Kurt looked down at the fruit and back up to Blaine, his finger tapping on his chin. "Do you work here, Blair?"

"Blaine," he corrected him. "Anderson. And no. But I've been here so many times, I could probably help you out."

Kurt nodded, trying to look as if he actually cared, but knowing he was just setting the situation up for a sarcastic finish. "Could you? That'd be fantastic."

"Yeah, what do you need help with?" Blaine asked, his own grocery basket, empty save a loaf of bread, obviously neglected in order to talk to Kurt.

"First, and really the only thing that you could do is leave me the fuck alone." Kurt smiled, and grabbed an orange from a stack in front of him.

Blaine, who looked offended for no more than half a second, let out a laugh and nodded. "Sorry for bothering you, man. I just wanted to help."

"Yeah, well, don't." Kurt spun to walk away, and he didn't even feel bad about it until much, much later.

In fact, he didn't even feel bad about it when he'd checked out and was putting his bags into the backseat of his car and saw that the person in the car next to his, who was putting his own bags into the backseat of his own car was none other than Blaine, one of the many people he had never wanted to see again.

"Well, isn't that a coincidence?" Blaine leaned on the driver's side of his car, looking over it to see Kurt climbing into his. "I swear it is. I'm not following you or anything."

Kurt huffed, opening his car door, and climbed in. He would never be making an appearance at another grocery store in his life if he didn't have to.

"Maybe it's just fate," Blaine shrugged.

Kurt slammed his door shut and rolled his eyes even harder than before. There were a lot of things that Kurt couldn't bring himself to believe in, and fate was third on the list - right under God and magical creatures. It was a ridiculous idea, and Blaine was obviously just saying it to piss him off. Not that he knew that Kurt hated it, but because anyone above the age of 13 should know how stupid 'fate' is.

Meanwhile, as he stressed over something as stupid as annoying Blaine, he didn't realize how many times he'd tried to start his car. When he turned the key for the fifth time and heard the dying sound of the engine, he slammed his head back against his headrest in frustration. Someone - he didn't know who yet - would be getting fired over this. He was going to find out who took care of car problems, sit their ass down, and make sure they never worked for-

Blaine was _laughing_ at him. Kurt had turned to the side to see what he could do to fix this problem, as if the answer would be written on his window, and Blaine was there, still not in his car, laughing hysterically at Kurt's misfortune.

And to be honest, Kurt had had enough. If he hadn't stumbled in Milan during Fashion Week a year back, this would've taken the spot as the worst day of his life. Considering whether to get out of the car and face his problems or sit and rot there forever, Kurt made up his mind to open his door when he truthfully could not take anymore of Blaine's tragic giggling.

"Now this is just ironic," Blaine continued to laugh as Kurt got out of his car, looking at it as if it were the biggest piece of crap he'd ever spent money on.

Kurt massaged his temples with his forefingers as he tried not to scream at the top of his lungs. He didn't know what he was more angrier about: the car not working, the car not working _here, _or having to come to the grocery store in the first place. Or, and he decided it had to have been this one, the fact that this guy he didn't even know was having the time of his life over this incident. He kicked the front left tire and groaned.

"Hey, I have some jumper cables if you need them," Blaine suggested, opening up his car door again.

And even though Kurt's dad had made a living as a mechanic, Kurt had no idea what a jumper cable was or how it could possibly help his situation. "What the hell is that?"

Blaine lifted his hand slowly, clicking the metal together on the cables. "To start the car."

"Oh," Kurt shook his head, understanding what Blaine was talking about, but not quite understanding what he was trying to do. "No. I think I'll just call a cab to come get me. I'll send someone out to come pick up this piece of shit later."

"I could take you home if you want," Blaine placed the cables back in his car and began to walk to where Kurt felt like his personal space was being invaded.

Kurt narrowed his eyes. He didn't feel like waiting for a cab, but he definitely didn't feel like paying someone to drive him around in a car from the 1990's.

"Listen, man. I'm just trying to help you out here."

"_Why?_" Kurt snapped.

"Because..." Blaine continued, "you're obviously in a bit of a jam, and I honestly have nothing better to do today than help out a stranger. You know the saying. Random acts of kindness go a long way, or something like that. There's a movie about it."

Kurt remained tight lipped. The more this man talked the more genuine he seemed, subsequently making Kurt more cautious of him. People were never who they said they were, if there was anything he'd learned in his line of work.

And then Blaine shrugged, and it started happening. Kurt began to hate himself all over again. It'd been at least 24 hours since he'd last felt like he was the scum of the earth, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, it wouldn't leave. This guy was being nice to him, and he was acting like a complete dick, and it's not because he wanted to; that's just the way he was. He was a terrible human being, and he knew it.

He sighed, opened the door behind the driver's seat and grabbed the grocery bags that he'd placed there no more than five minutes ago. Turning around, he saw a quizzical expression on Blaine's face, and he bit his tongue to make sure he didn't say anything rude. After all, he was going to be spending the next twenty minutes with the guy, depending on Los Angeles traffic, and didn't want to make anything awkward. He got into the passenger seat of Blaine's car, and put his bags at his feet.

When Blaine was settled in as well, the working car ready to go, he asked what Kurt knew was inevitable. "So, uh, where are we headed?"

"North Beverly," Kurt answered. "Less than a mile from Hollywood."

Blaine nodded and put the car into reverse.

"I'm Kurt, by the way."

"Hm," Blaine grinned approvingly. "Kurt. That's a cool name. Named after Vonnegut?"

"Yes, actually," Kurt responded the edges of his lips tingling, like he wanted to smile, but he hadn't done it in so long, that he had no muscle memory to do so. "Most people guess Cobain since he died the year I was born."

And Kurt realized that was the first time he'd shared that with anyone since he was in high school, and that as much as he hated talking about himself, it was kind of cool to get a share a fact that so little people cared about.

"Yeah, I mean, I like Nirvana, but I would give it up in a heartbeat for a good science fiction novel," Blaine continued. "'94, right?"

Kurt almost had to ask what he was referring to, but he caught on, and nodded. "Yeah, but I was born in March, and Cobain died in April, so there goes that theory."

"Who knows? You're parents could be soothsayers," Blaine joked.

Kurt clenched down on his jaw. Number four on his list of things he didn't believe in was physic powers, but he pushed those thoughts to the side, and just tried to enjoy the conversation.

"1995 was better anyway," said Blaine, paying close attention to the road, and the insane amount of cars on it.

Kurt shook his head. "Not possible. Katherine DeMille died in 1995. The entire year was just tragic."

"Maybe that's why I came out of the womb crying," Blaine suggested.

"I'd put money on that theory," Kurt nodded, glancing out the window to his right. He didn't feel quite comfortable being in such a closed off space with someone he didn't know, but he did feel, if anything, at ease. His guard wasn't as high up as usual, which actually sort of scared him.

To be fair, Blaine seemed a little nervous and cautious about the whole situation as well. Not that Kurt was watching Blaine at all. Because Kurt didn't notice people. People noticed Kurt. But at the same time, Blaine was different from other people; he cared, or at least he was doing a damn good job of conveying that he did, and Kurt found that rather endearing. For a few seconds at least, before he could remind himself that no one was ever what they seemed, and he looked back down at his lap.

"So, uh, you know a lot of famous people?" Blaine asked out of the silence, and Kurt nearly choked on air before Blaine had a chance to clarify. "I mean, living in Beverly Hills and everything. You have to be like a billionaire to afford anything, right?"

"Oh," Kurt nodded. His pulse had jumped from the thought of Blaine knowing who he was, because Blaine, although not flaming with homosexuality, was definitely gay. (His dapper consistency and the Etta James album that was humming quietly in his CD player had triggered Kurt's gaydar, something Kurt took much pride in having perfected over the years.) And gay men just knew who Kurt Hummel was. Still, Blaine had made no remarks that proved or disproved this theory, so Kurt had just gone along with it. "I know some people from my neighborhood. They don't just flaunt their celebrity. Most just want to be left alone, to be honest."

Blaine seemed content with this answer, nodding accordingly, but Kurt was just waiting for him to ask _who, where, _or his favorite, _can you introduce us_? Really, the celebrities he knew, which were probably more than he'd made it sound like, weren't in it for the recognition. They just liked their work.

"I'm not a billionaire," Kurt shrugged. He never really knew his exact net worth, but it never exceeded a few million. Money was never problem, because he got most things for free. If he was caught wearing something, it was automatically worth more, making his face and body one big advertisement campaign.

"I didn't mean that," Blaine responded, almost apologetically.

"Most people don't."

Blaine began to laugh, never taking his eyes off the road. "Do you often get rides from strangers at Trader Joe's?"

"Surprisingly, no," Kurt shook his head, his lips begging to break out into a smile, but they just couldn't make it.

"Speaking of," Blaine continued. "Based on what you just bought, I'm assuming it's Mimosa Night for One rather than a cocktail party going on tonight."

"Well," Kurt cocked his head to the side so he could get a better view of the man driving the car. "That's a rather bold assumption, don't you think? I could be having a date tonight for all you know."

"Oh," Blaine grinned and finally made eye contact with Kurt for a moment. "And are you?"

"No," Kurt admitted with a sigh. "Not at all, actually. I'm single as fuck."

Blaine's puppy dog eyes narrowed as he went back to focusing on the traffic and he gave a half-smile as a general expression.

And Kurt coughed when he realized he was noticing these things. These were things he generally didn't care about when he met people. The shape of their eyes were always round with attentiveness and their smiles were always broad and false. Kurt had to admit he wasn't used to seeing someone with such a range of pure emotion, so it was only natural that every move Blaine's face made caught his eye.

"It's the, um," Kurt swallowed, not understand why he suddenly couldn't form a complete sentence, "the next exit."

As the car drifted in and out of traffic and eventually off the 405, the two in the car made awkward glances at everything but each other. The quicker he could get out of the car, Kurt thought, the better.

But he almost didn't want to get out of the car. He didn't want to go back to reality just yet. Especially a reality in which his only friend was the camera, and even that was more like a "frenemy," because, in the end, he despised his own appearance.

The first right, the second left, Kurt directed Blaine towards his neighborhood, almost pleased when they would hit a red light along the way.

"Kurt," Blaine began suddenly, minutes before they would reach Kurt's house. "I have to tell you something, but I don't want you to take it the wrong way."

Kurt's right eyebrow raised as he was reluctant to know what Blaine was talking about. "Go on..."

"I kinda don't know how to put this..." Blaine made multiple glances from the road to Kurt in a very brief period of time. "Um... I've been collecting _Vogue_ since I was fourteen years old..."

Kurt was totally confused. Was he coming out to him or something? He already knew he was gay; how would he have taken this the wrong way?

And then, before he could ask what the hell he was talking about, Kurt understood. More so, he remembered. Every spread and article and photograph he'd had in _Vogue_ magazine alone over the past three years came rushing into his memory, and he knew what Blaine was trying to say. He'd recognized him. No, he _knew_ who he was.

Of course it made sense. Why else would he have been sucking up to him? Blaine wasn't a nice guy; he was just a guy who wanted a signed picture of Kurt Hummel.

Kurt was angry at Blaine, but more importantly, he was angry at himself. _Nice guys didn't exist. People are not capable of caring about other people. People only want what's best for themselves_. How could he have been so foolish to believe that maybe he'd met one person who just wanted to give him a ride because he needed one? Or the tangerine thing. The fucking tangerine. He didn't want to help him out with his groceries. He just wanted an excuse to talk to a famous model.

"Kurt?"

"That's disgusting. _You're_ disgusting," Kurt grabbed his bags from the floor and folded his arms across his chest, not even giving the Blaine the pleasure of looking at him eye-to-eye. "Just stop the car." His house was right around the corner anyway, and it was not going to be a big deal to walk.

"Look, Kurt. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No." Kurt looked at him like he was worth less than a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. "Fuck you. Stop the car."

God, he'd even known who he was named after. He probably had Kurt's poster on his wall.

Blaine pulled up to the curb, and Kurt bit down on his tongue, trying to control his rage. Opening his door, Kurt stepped out and slammed it shut. Blaine, who had rolled down the passenger window by then, looked up at him with sorry eyes.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you when I met you," he nearly pleaded, a vain effort.

"I really should've known," Kurt gave a sarcastic grin, the one time he was able to get his mouth to do that. "Every faggot I've ever met has wanted to fuck me. Why did I assume you were any different?" He made a dramatic effort in turning around and stomping off.

And then, out of nowhere, he stopped. Because after all, Kurt hated himself. He hated the way he never let people explain themselves when they did something wrong. He hated the way his eyes moved from object to person as if they were the same thing. And he particularly loathed how he assumed the worst in every single person he met, no matter saint or sinner. To him, everyone was shit. Even himself.

He honestly tried, but couldn't stop himself from twisting his neck around to see Blaine, rolling up the window in his car, looking tragically defeated. And he didn't want to, but he had to go back. If not to make things right, he at least had to apologize.

Blaine must've seen Kurt coming back, and Kurt was impressed with his bravery. If the tables had been turned, he wouldn't have stuck around to hear the second half of whatever he had to say, knowing it couldn't possibly have been good.

And Kurt's pride was put to shame as he leaned down and knocked on the window, disgusted that he was the one who was begging for attention and, soon enough, forgiveness. Blaine rolled down the window once again.

"I, uh," Kurt hesitated, hoping to sound as authentic as possible. "I never liked the word faggot."

Blaine blinked up at him, his eyebrows raised, waiting for every last drop of Kurt's dignity to combust, it seemed. Kurt somehow knew he would never ask for an apology, and it made him want to go through with it even more.

"Shit, Blaine," Kurt looked down at the sidewalk under his feet and suddenly felt how heavy the bags were in his hands. "I really don't know how to say I'm sorry."

Blaine shrugged. "Kinda sounds like you just did."

Kurt took a deep breath in and out, resting his hand on the area where the window would be coming out of if it was rolled up. "When'd you know it was me?"

"Pretty much the moment I saw you," explained Blaine. "But I swear to God I had no further intentions than to help you with the fruit. And then later, to help get you home. I never would've even asked for an autograph. I just..."

Even though he didn't finish, Kurt knew what he meant. Basically, it was nothing Kurt wouldn't have done if the tables had been turned and he'd met, say, George Clooney at the supermarket. But he still couldn't shake the fact that he had blatantly lied to him, when he ended up confessing anyway.

"You know you could've gotten away with it," Kurt suggested. "My house is literally right around the corner. I never would've known that you knew."

"Yeah... my conscience would've eaten me alive."

Kurt made up his mind, opened up the car door, and climbed in the passenger seat next to a very shocked and confused Blaine. "Well now you know where I live anyway," Kurt began, not really sure of why he was being so forgiving to someone he hardly knew, "so I may as well get a full ride out of this." He set the grocery bags on his lap. "Plus, these bags are fucking heavy."

And as quickly as he'd stopped the car, Blaine started it right back up, and took the first right into Kurt's neighborhood. Kurt felt it again: the want to stay in the car for as long as possible, to avoid his real life and responsibilities for as long as he could put it off. When he pointed out which house it was, he reached into his wallet and fished out a twenty dollar bill - surprised that he even had cash on him.

"This is all I have," Kurt held out the money for Blaine. "It probably would've been a bit more, but then again, you did lie to me for a while there."

"Oh, um, no thanks," Blaine refused. "I just did this to help you out. I'm no cab driver or anything."

"Damn it, Blaine. Take the money. I can't go off thinking that I owe you something. I won't be able to forget it for the rest of the day."

"The _entire_ day, huh?" Blaine said smugly, almost as if he was trying to make Kurt feel bad about himself.

Kurt huffed and stuck the newly crinkled bill into Blaine's glovebox before making sure he had everything and opening the car door. If Blaine was anything, he was irritating. But he was also kinda cute when he laughed and rolled his eyes at this, knowing that there was no way Kurt was going to take the money back now. And he was probably going to regret this later, but it was worth a shot.

"I'm not bipolar," he started, "but do you want to come inside and share a drink with me? You seem to know your stuff, and to be honest, I haven't got a fucking clue on how to make a mimosa."

Blaine nearly choked on his own existence after hearing that. Kurt noticed how he began fumbling with his words, obviously not used to being invited into a famous model's multi-million dollar home for cocktails.

"I, uh, I guess, um. Are you sure? I mean, I would like, um, to do that but, uh, I mean. Is it, like, going to be a problem or-"

"Why would it be a problem? I just _invited_ you," Kurt reminded him, trying not to pay attention to the fidget of Blaine's fingers as he tried to turn the key so the engine would shut off.

Blaine coughed, turning his car off, and obviously trying to remain calm.


	2. Chapter 2

_Same Warnings/Disclosures from Chapter 1 apply._

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><p>"Follow me," Kurt got out of the car and closed the door behind him. He led the way up the stairs and onto his front porch before reaching in his pocket to find his house key. "God damn. It's hot as hell out here."<p>

He half expected Blaine to comment on the fact that he was wearing a sweater in 100 degree weather, but he must've been too stunned for sarcastic comments at the moment. Because when Kurt opened his front door and revealed an entry way that even he had to admit was one of the most well-decorated he'd seen, Blaine appeared speechless. Kurt's house wasn't over-the-top for someone with his money, but it was nicer than any home he'd lived in before, and it definitely caught the eye of anyone who walked in.

He set the grocery bags on the floor and slipped off his shoes, making his way to the thermostat that he turned down to 68 degrees. He definitely preferred it cold during the day and hot when he slept, helping to keep his weight down.

"Make yourself at home," Kurt plopped down on one of the sofas in his entertainment room which was directly to the right of the foyer and flicked on the television to Bravo. "Just make sure you take off your shoes."

Blaine, who was still standing awestruck with his hands by his sides next to the front door, seemed to be studying everything he saw around him: the big ceiling, the swiveling silver stairs and every piece of artwork on the walls that had a central theme of black and white city scenes. It was all pretty impressive, Kurt admitted, but he didn't think it was anything to gawk over.

"You live here alone?" Blaine asked, slowly taking one shoe off at a time.

"Yeah, for the most part," Kurt answered, changing the channel once he realized he'd already seen the currently playing episode of _The Real Housewives. _"Paul, my assistant will crash sometimes. I tell him he can go home, but he insists he has too much work to do, and his wife hates when he brings work home. So I tell him to dump his wife."

Blaine looked at Kurt, not quite confused, but definitely not understanding something.

"She's a bitch anyway."

"Don't you get... lonely?" Blaine asked, noting just how large the house truly was.

Kurt shrugged. "I try not to stay here too often." When he reached _OWN_ on his TV, he put down the remote and began to watch _Home Takeover_.

Blaine didn't seem too interested in watching any television shows at the moment. Instead, Kurt watched from the corner of his eye that Blaine was clearly more intrigued by Kurt's furniture than anything.

"You can sit down, you know," Kurt stated, more as a command than an offer, and probably a little too harshly towards a guest, but how would he have known that, really? Any guests he'd had over we're there to work for him, not to be his friend.

"Um..." Blaine moved his gaze from the greyscale picture of the San Francisco Bay Bridge to Kurt on the couch. "I was actually wondering if I could just look around a bit. This place is really fantastic."

"It's also not a fucking museum."

Kurt watched Blaine nod and make his way towards the couch, but not close enough for Kurt to feel quite uncomfortable.

"Oh," Blaine said, folding his arms across his chest. "It's just, well, I work with interior design, so things like this kinda interest me."

"Christ, Blaine. I'm watching _Home Takeover_," Kurt motioned to the TV. "It can't get much more interior design than that." Blaine didn't move. "Do you always inspect people's houses when you go over for the first time or something?"

It was an awkward silence, and Kurt, who usually wouldn't care about whether other people were comfortable, suddenly felt Blaine standing there, considering whether he should've just left after dropping him off, and although he didn't want to admit it, it sort of offended him in a weird, non offensive kind of way. And just having to process these emotions was enough for Kurt to lose his mind. He wasn't supposed to have emotions, he tried to remind himself. He was a model. Models were emotionless.

"Well how about we make the mimosas then?" he offered, getting up from his seat and grabbing the bags he'd left sitting on the floor when he walked in.

Blaine followed him almost reluctantly down a stain-glass windowed corridor to a kitchen with hardwood cabinets and marble countertops on which Kurt set the groceries. Kurt knew his kitchen was one of the more aesthetically pleasing rooms in his house, and he knew Blaine would notice, so he just leaned against his refrigerator until the inevitable exchange was over.

"Wow," Blaine let go a breath that he'd obviously been holding in. "Kurt, this place is just beautiful."

"Blaine, although I find your interest in the way I decorate compelling, it's kind of boring me," Kurt stated. "Also, using the word beautiful to describe a house is a little degrading, don't you think?"

Blaine quickly scanned the rest of the room that he hadn't been able to closely study before shaking his head as if he was forcing himself back to paying attention. "Sorry. I'm just trained to look at things that way, I guess."

And Kurt really didn't mean to take offense from that, but he couldn't help it. To Kurt, Blaine was implying that he looked at things, objects specifically, like they were being judged for beauty. And to Kurt, who's entire job revolved around people looking at him like an object, beautiful but lifeless, it was a worthless skill. Beautiful was his least favorite word.

"So," Kurt tilted his head to the side, eyebrows raised as he waited to be impressed. "You're the expert."

Blaine took a second but knew that Kurt was referring to making the drinks. He stepped toward the counter and took each bottle out of the bags they were in, placing them neatly next to him. Kurt let him do what he needed to do, moving out the way when Blaine needed a jug behind him, but never telling him where anything in his kitchen was. It was interesting to pay that much attention to someone simply pouring alcohol and orange juice, stirring it, and cutting up a fruit. His hands were meticulous, but the expression on his face seemed to be of joy or, at the least, relaxation. He'd made plenty drinks before, Kurt could tell - probably worked as a bartender at some point in his life. And then it was weird because Kurt sensed his own curiosity. He'd never been particularly nosy or interested in the lives of others, but he suddenly felt like he wanted to know about Blaine's past jobs and what skills he had and maybe even a little bit of his childhood. To say the least, this scared him.

When the drinks were poured, Blaine finally spoke up only to ask where he should put the dirty knife that he'd used to cut the orange. Kurt motioned to his sink and accepted the offered drink from Blaine. Their eyes diverted as they both took the first sip.

It was good, Kurt had to admit. The tanginess outweighed the taste of the alcohol, but he liked it that way - he never liked to know when he was getting drunk. (And four glasses into this, he would be a babbling mess.)

"Impressive," he nodded, taking another sip and licking his lips. "Where'd you learn to make a mimosa?"

"Google," Blaine responded, without thought, adding a friendly smile afterwards.

Kurt pressed his lips together and rolled his eyes to the side, not wanting to admit that maybe that had been a little funny. "Regardless, it's probably better than what I would've made."

And he was bluffing so badly. Because what he would've made would've been drinking straight from the champagne bottle after confusing the hell out of himself, trying to make a semi-fancy cocktail, even though Blaine had just made it look so simple. In all honesty, Kurt couldn't make a glass of milk properly.

Blaine took a long sip before resting his elbow on the counter where all the ingredients were still sitting out. "No, I actually used to host at this classy restaurant, surprising as it may seem. This is just a technique I picked up from working there for so long. They put more orange juice than alcohol so the people don't know their getting drunk, causing them to order more drinks."

Kurt bit the inside of his cheeks, a trick he'd learned in modeling to stop himself from showing emotion on a runway. But when he realized he was doing it in normal conversation, he mentally scolded himself. Most people, he reminded himself, _did_ show emotion. When he first joined the agency, and had seen all the older models keeping a straight face through out everything they said, it had made him feel awkward. He wondered if that's how Blaine felt talking to him at this moment.

Unfortunately, as he tried to undfo this look, he felt even more uncomfortable, forcing a wide, but tight-lipped smile.

"Just a scam for money really," Blaine added, like his previous explanation hadn't been good enough.

"No, no," Kurt shook his head, putting his glass back up to his lips. "I'm all for that. Steal from the rich and give to the poor, right? Not that _you're_ poor, but you know what I mean." He threw his head back and swallowed almost all of what was in the glass.

"Damn, Blaine," he set the cup down. "That's some tasty shit."

Blaine responded with a shrug.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Kurt asked. "Pour us another!"

"But it's three in the afternoon..." Blaine said, obviously reluctant to the idea of getting wasted before the sun went down.

"Yeah on a _Saturday_. And what's a Saturday worth if you're not drunk off your ass?"

"I don't know, Kurt. I have to drive home and-"

"I get it. I get it," Kurt waved his hand airily and began to pour himself another drink since Blaine wasn't going to do it for him. "You want dinner first, maybe dessert, a movie possibly, and _then_ you'll start guzzling your orange-juice-heavy drink."

"No, that's not-"

"It's fine. I understand. You're not going to toss out your morality just because you're with _Kurt Hummel_," he grabbed a straw out of the drawer behind him, stuck it in his drink, and began sipping away. He knew it couldn't have been the alcohol talking already, so it must've just been his own curiosity. "Luckily for you, Olive will be here in about an hour."

He started floating back down the hall, the straw in between his teeth, and Blaine followed close behind.

"Um, who's Olive?"

"Olive's my chef," Kurt explained. "She cooks my dinner every night."

"Dinner? At four pm?"

Kurt chose a different spot on the couch this time, opting for a seat closer to the glass coffee table to set his drink on, even though he knew he would be holding it for the most part anyway. "She'll _get here_ at four, dinner will be ready at 5:30, and after six, I'm only allowed liquids."

Blaine, who was trying to find a position next to Kurt on the couch that wasn't awkwardly close or awkwardly far apart, still wasn't fully convinced. "Why? Do you have surgery tomorrow or something?"

"Blaine," Kurt turned to him so they were completely face-to-face for probably the first time ever, "as easy as it may seem to parade down a little catwalk or make a pouty face for a camera, being a model actually requires a lot of effort. This includes a rigorous diet and exercise routine that I'm sure you wouldn't know a thing about. We can't all be _born_ pretty."

In his defense, Kurt had been really distracted by the fact that Blaine was setting his glass down without a coaster. And also, he was known for rambling when prompted with a topic from his own Pandora's box (including, but not limited to, belittling the modeling industry, testing his knowledge on the late Alexander McQueen, or jumping to conclusions based on his sexuality).

His top teeth were pressed down on his bottom lip as he waited for Blaine's reaction to that statement, and he began to wonder when exactly he noticed that Blaine _was_ in fact good-looking. Because now that he'd said it aloud, it couldn't be unseen.

Blaine's face shape was chiseled, but not sharp. His lips were soft and pink and round. His nose, something Kurt used to notice first on everyone he saw, was _real_ and curved and bent in the right places. And his eyes - bright, open, and hazel - could've captivated the straightest and most homophobic of men.

"I bet you were born pre-" Blaine tried, but Kurt wouldn't hear it.

"Shut the fuck up."

And even though he'd sort of been kidding, it's precisely what both of them did.

Thank goodness _Home Takeover_ was such an addicting show, or they would've had to actually think about what had just happened, and it was so much easier to watch wealthy people's homes be rearranged on the television than it would've been to start a conversation like that.

But Kurt still kind of _wanted_ to initiate that conversation. Because he knew it had to start with an apology on his end. Not only for offending Blaine in any way possible, but for assuming that his only claim to fame was from genetics. If there was something Kurt was 100% sure about, it was that genetics meant horse shit. And even though a year after Kurt had gotten his surgery, he found out that he might've covered _Details_ if he had kept his pointy nose, as a unique-factor so to speak, he knew he couldn't just model because he was "pretty." He could model because he worked damn hard at it and didn't let anyone convince him otherwise.

It was almost impossible how much Kurt hated beauty.

The next time anyone spoke, it was nearly 45 minutes later when Kurt just had to comment on the red, zebra-print rug the show was installing in the family room of the house being 'taken over.' "Holy hell, that rug is God-awful."

"Maybe," Blaine responded. "But you have to look at it from a design point of view. I mean, the entire room is based off of shapes. See, it's got the square clock and the round aquarium in the back. Zebra-print is the lack of shape, so the contrast brings everything together. Would I put it in my house? No. But it's not always how attractive a certain item is. What it really comes down to is how well it works with the rest of the room."

By the end of Blaine's spiel, Kurt had turned to face him again. He really felt bad now, especially after Blaine had just summed up everything he felt about the matter, and knew there was no longer any time to wait.

"Sorry about earlier," he stated genuinely. "I just get kinda uptight when it comes to defending my job."

Blaine smiled, accepting the apology. "If I didn't know any better, Kurt, I'd think you were getting substantially better at apologizing."

"Maybe," Kurt shrugged one shoulder and faced toward the television again. "But the rug still sucks."

When the doorbell rang a few minutes later, Kurt answered it and saw his assistant, Paul looking very confused and a little cautious.

"Hey, there's a random car outside, and I couldn't see anyone in it," Paul began, walking into the house with a small suitcase trailing behind, "so we need to be very careful and make a call to the cops. You haven't heard any strange noises from down-" He stopped when he saw Blaine looking up from his spot on the couch. "Oh. Hi there. I assume you're the blue Honda?"

"Hey, I'm Blaine," he nodded with a crooked grin that Kurt scolded himself for noticing.

"Blaine," Paul repeated with a nod. "I apologize, but I just got off a flight from New York, so you know, with jet leg and everything, I seem to have forgotten. What do you do, again?"

"Huh?"

"He doesn't work for me," Kurt interrupted, feeling less than comfortable that that was the conclusion he had jumped to first. "He, uh, drove me home after the piece of shit car the agency gave me broke down in front of Trader Joe's. I invited him to stay."

Paul looked over to Blaine and then back to Kurt, an eyebrow raised. "What were you doing at Trader Joe's? You didn't tell me you were going out."

"God, Paul," Kurt rolled his eyes. "You don't need to _babysit_ me."

"Oh, but I do, Kurt. It's my job," Paul deadpanned before his phone rang, and Kurt recognized the ring-tone as the one that belonged to his wife. Paul stepped into the corridor to answer it.

Meanwhile, Kurt was feeling hot with embarrassment as he turned to Blaine. Paul did treat him like a little kid sometimes, and while it kept him safe and happy, it also came off as Kurt not being able to take care of himself, which he totally could. He just had never had the opportunity to.

Blaine sat awkwardly on the couch, looking as if he knew he shouldn't have been there.

"I have other friends," Kurt tried to explain in the silence that occurred as Paul chatted with his wife. "It's just, I usually go to their houses instead of them coming over here. And I do normally tell Paul what I'm doing, so that's why he was confused."

Blaine shook his head. "It's fine."

"He'll leave soon..."

"Kurt!" Paul exclaimed, coming back into the entryway. "I have a surprise for you, and you're going to love me forever once I tell you."

"You're leaving your wife?" Kurt guessed, his attention back on the TV screen.

"No," Paul shook his head, "Better."

Kurt turned to him, non-expressive, trained and perfect. Although Paul had become a kind of confidant over the past couple years, Kurt was still first and foremost a model and boss to him.

"I got you a four-page spread in _Cosmo_... with Rick Genest."

Kurt couldn't form a complete thought, let alone sentence. If what Paul told him was true, he would be working with one of the highest paid and infamous models in the industry. Genest had tattooed his entire body to Zombie attire, and had since worked with Lady Gaga, Nicola Formichetti, and many others. Kurt had idolized him from the moment he saw him.

"Are you fucking with me?" he asked, finally able to comprehend what had happened.

Paul shook his head with rigor. "No! I ran into his agent in the city and we had lunch and she called him up and booked the whole thing! Said he was excited to get to work with you."

"Holy shit!" Kurt nearly shouted. "Holy _fucking_ shit! That's so fucking awesome!"

"I know right!" Paul smiled widely, and Kurt noticed that he was doing the same. This was his _dream_.

"Oh, my God," Kurt said, forcing himself to calm down. "What the hell am I gonna say when I _meet_ him? _Hi. Nice to meet you. I'm in _love_ with you_?"

Paul laughed loudly. "Something along those lines, I'm sure."

"I will never, ever be able to thank you enough for this, Paul!"

"Oh, I'm sure," Paul joked accordingly, pulling out a green folder from his briefcase. "You wanna go over the details now?

"Yeah," Kurt responded, his excitement levels slowly dropping back to normal. "Blaine, do you mind?"

Blaine, still sitting on the couch, still watching the TV, and still making awkward glances from Kurt to Paul, began to stand up. "Yeah, go ahead. I should probably be heading home anyway-"

"Wait," Kurt interrupted, confusing himself as to why he wanted something so... _odd._ Because really, he did _want_ Blaine to stay. But before he could even analyze the reasons as to why he had such unusual desires, he spoke. "Paul, it's Saturday night. I'm sure we can wait until tomorrow to discuss everything, right? I already invited Blaine to stay for dinner."

"I'm cool with that," Paul nodded. "I should probably go pick up your car anyway. You want me to take it to the dealer?"

"Yeah, sure," Kurt said, but he really didn't care. He was watching Blaine who seemed to be conflicted with wanting to stay and not wanting to get in anyone's way. "Blaine and I are gonna eat when Olive gets here. You want some?" He turned to Paul with a raised eyebrow. "I'll walk you out."

The two men made their way to the front door, Kurt looking behind him to make sure Blaine wasn't going anywhere. Paul opened the door, and they both stepped outside onto the porch, closing it behind them.

"He seems nice," Paul smiled broadly and almost forwardly. "Your new boo, perhaps?"

"No," Kurt shook his head, but felt heat rising to his cheeks regardless. "Gross."

"Gross what? Blaine or the idea of dating him?"

"You using the word 'boo' to describe any relationship of mine," Kurt folded his arms across his chest.

"Look," Paul said, pulling the strap of his briefcase up onto his shoulder. "I've been married for four years and straight since the day I was born, but he's cute. _And_ he gave you a ride home. I know you don't really _do_ boyfriends or whatever, but at least give him a shot."

Kurt rolled his eyes instinctively.

"I know, I know," Paul continued, seeing the obvious hesitation in Kurt's body language and facial expression. "But there might be something special about him. Don't screw it up before you guys even get a chance. Now give me a hug."

Kurt leaned into Paul's grasp, a quick, manly hug that they'd perfected into teetering on the line between work and friendship.

"That includes not sleeping with him tonight," Paul added before letting go of Kurt and turning to walk down the sidewalk away from his house.

Kurt rolled back his eyes again, this time playfully. "Who says you can't fuck on the first date?"

Paul laughed out before getting into his car and driving off.

And Kurt realized three things: One, that maybe this was sort of a date. Two, that maybe Blaine was a genuinely nice person. And three, that he most _definitely_ wanted to have sex with him tonight. After all, it'd been nearly a month since he last hooked up, and he hadn't bought all that alcohol for nothing.

When he want back inside, he saw Blaine, standing up, turn his attention to him from the TV.

"You didn't have to do that, Kurt..."

"Oh, shut up; I wanted to," Kurt walked over to the coffee table and picked up his empty glass. "You ready for another drink?"

Blaine shrugged, but followed Kurt to the kitchen anyway.

At dinner, Kurt found himself on his fourth drink, while Blaine was still on his second. Olive had prepared vegetable lasagna and Italian bread for the two to eat, and although it was delicious, Kurt knew he shouldn't be eating that much. Olive had never cooked for a model before him, and was nearing 250 pounds, but Kurt loved her food so much that he didn't have the heart to tell her to make less. And since he ate alone most of the time, he often found himself eating more than his small stomach could handle.

Kurt and Blaine had made small talk during their dinner; Blaine talking about what exactly he did as an interior designer, and how it was much more prestige than interior decorating, and Kurt listening intently to something he didn't find particularly fascinating, but at least he didn't have to talk about himself.

When they finished, Kurt decided he was really too sober. The food had cleared out nearly all the alcohol in his system, and he just didn't find this to be an appropriate time to not be drunk.

"Lovely dinner, Olive!" Kurt exclaimed, patting his chef on the shoulder. "Don't you think so, Blaine?"

"I think I'm too full to think," Blaine responded, his hands resting on his stomach, but a grin on his face.

"I'm glad ya'll liked it," Olive smiled back. "I 'specially like cooking for Kurt's friends."

Kurt gave a sly smile to Olive, knowing that she was trying to impress Blaine as much as he was. Apparently every in the world thought Blaine was "boyfriend material" for him. Except him, of course. Maybe.

He turned to Blaine. "You'll now join me in getting shitfaced wasted, yes?"

And Blaine couldn't resist his offer. "Yes," he sighed, "if it so pleases you."

"And it does," Kurt felt one-half of his mouth twitch before he realized he was smiling. _Finally_, he thought. Because if Kurt knew anything about modeling, he knew twice as much about drinking, and three times as much about getting attractive boys he barely knew to make out with him. It was, he decided, going to be a fun night. "Follow me to the land of liquor."

He made his way towards the basement stairs, making sure Blaine was following closely behind. He didn't have a really extensive supply of alcohol, but it was enough to keep him satisfied for a few months, and more than enough to get the two of them hosed for one night.

"Have you ever gotten drunk on red wine, Blaine?" Kurt found his cellar and started rummaging through it.

"Can't say that I have," he answered truthfully. "Honestly, I don't really get drunk too much."

Kurt gasped. "Why the hell not?"

"I don't know," Blaine shrugged in a way that told Kurt he did know. "There was this party in high school where I completely lost it and ended doing a lot of things I regret, and ever since then, it's been more of a rarity for me."

"Blaine," Kurt began, grabbing two different wine bottles that seemed pleasing to him, both fairly new and fairly cheap, but it didn't matter because whatever got the job done would be good enough for him. "You're going to have to go into full detail on that later, but right now I'd like you to get that bottle of tequila behind you and bring it back upstairs."

After both men were sitting in the living room, Blaine up straight in a large, white leather recliner, and Kurt laid back in his gold satin covered love seat. Olive brought in two filled wine glasses and handed one to each of them. Olive wasn't Kurt's maid or butler or whatever she would be called if Kurt ever decided to give her an official title, but on the weekends especially, she usually stayed and cleaned up after dinner so Kurt could have the night to himself. Not that he would clean anyway; cleaning service came Monday through Friday.

"To a lifetime supply of _Vogue_ covers," Kurt raised his glass, knowing Blaine would think of his toast as a model's way of thanking their deity, or in Kurt's case, the lack there of, but he was secretly hoping that Blaine would catch on to his joke. Because after all, Blaine most likely never would've known who he was if it weren't for the fashion magazine.

Blaine smiled, possibly granting Kurt's desire, but there was no way to know for sure. Until of course, "To Trader Joe's." Blaine's glass was in the air as well, waiting to be clinked by Kurt's.

After the drink's came in contact, both boys pressed their glass to their lips and took a nice, long swig.

Kurt closed his eyes to really get a taste for his favorite type of drink. It was classy, tasty, and despite giving him the worst hangovers ever, got the job done. _Red, red wine_, he began humming. _Stay close to me. _

He opened his eyes and saw Blaine looking down, inspecting the carpet with his bare feet.

_Don't let me be alone._

Blaine, in the quietest and softest tone, hummed along.

_It's tearing apart my blue, blue heart._

"Would you have helped me out with my groceries if I wasn't who I am?" Kurt asked, random even to his self because he didn't know he'd been thinking it.

Blaine looked up, almost startled, but more nervous than anything. And while Kurt thought it endearing, it wasn't enough to avoid the question all together. He definitely wanted to know now that he'd thought about it.

"Maybe?" Blaine answered. "But to be honest, Kurt. I'm not certain I know who you are."

"What do you mean?"

He didn't mean to be hostile, he really didn't. That's just how he talked. When he wanted answers, he got them. He'd grown used to quick, informal conversation that every time he called his step mother in Lima, Ohio, she had to remind him who he was talking to. Kurt had changed these past years.

"Well," Blaine began. "There's Kurt Hummel, the guy I see in magazines and on TV who's very handsome, but there's all those rumors that he's a mean guy or a diva or whatever. And then there's the guy I met at the grocery store and who stormed out of my car when I told him the truth who wouldn't give another person a second glance let alone a moment of his time."

Kurt clenched his jaw. He didn't ask to be criticized and it was starting to piss him off. Still, he heard Blaine out.

"Then of course there's a Kurt who uses colorful language and drinks alcohol like its water and wants nothing more than a good time."

Kurt was biting his tongue at this point, dreading what was coming next, but never stopping him.

"Lastly, there's a guy who doesn't know if he wants to be left alone or coddled like a baby because really, he's just as confused as me with what he wants, and he sure as hell doesn't know how he's going to get it."

There was a silence as the words seeped in. Kurt took a sip from his drink, and Blaine didn't move a thing but his eyes, roaming Kurt's body and face.

"What if I told you I wasn't any of those things?"

Blaine shrugged a shoulder. "I guess I'd have to believe you then. I've known you for a couple hours while you've known you forever, right?"

Kurt didn't want to talk, because honestly he couldn't breathe. Was that right? Did Kurt even know who he was? He sure felt that way sometimes, especially when he hated himself for everything he did. But out those people that Blaine described, he could see himself in all of them, and in none of them at the same time. Part of him was dying to know: _Which one am I, really? Where do I belong?_ And the other part, the majority of him, was screaming back, _Nowhere! You belong nowhere!_

"I think," Kurt started, shifting in his seat again, "we are entirely_ too _sober to be discussing such philosophical ideas."

Blaine had to agree.

* * *

><p><em>Quick AN: This first day is taking forever, no? I apologize, and I assure the rest of the story won't be this slow and draggy, but Kurt has many walls he must break down before he can trust Blaine._

_Second thing, my knowledge of fashion comes completely from Project Runway, Wikipedia, and Lady Gaga, so if I don't know what the heck I am talking about, please forgive me!_

_Thanks for reading/reviewing!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Same Warnings/Disclosures from Chapter 1 apply. Some (almost) smut._

* * *

><p>The first movie they'd watched had been <em>The Sound of Music<em> because it was such a classic, and both knew all the words to all the songs. Next they watched some action film that they had thoroughly made fun of the entire time. But by the time they put _Nightmare on Elm Street_, they were fully intoxicated.

Kurt knew he was probably pretending to be more drunk than he actually was, but Blaine seemed to find it hilarious, and there was no way he was going to stop.

"I was a_ cheerleader_ in high school, Blaine," Kurt said matter-of-factly as he began reaching down towards his toes. "And you don't think I can do one fucking handstand?"

Blaine hiccuped a laugh, his glass of wine never more than a few inches away from his lips. He was lying on his stomach on the couch, but never staying still for more than a few moments.

When Kurt felt that he might possibly have a sturdy stance with his hands flat on the ground, he kicked his legs up into the air and tried to buckle his knees, but his arms gave out from under him and he landed on his back, in pain no less, but laughing uncontrollably.

At the same time, Blaine looked like he'd died and gone to hell by how much his veins looked like they were going to pop out of his face. He obviously thought that'd been funny.

"Shit, Blaine. _Ow._ My back..." Kurt half whined, half giggled from his spot on the floor.

Blaine did what looked to be the best he could in trying to stand up and make his way over to Kurt to help him out, but it wasn't working too well for him. He stumbled, and in desperation began using his forearms to army-crawl towards the boy in pain on the floor, whilst still holding his cup of red wine. "Are you..." he breathed in and out deeply, trying to calm himself down and regain his breath all at the same time, "okay?"

"I'm fine," Kurt rolled over onto his side to get a better view of Blaine, who had also given up on trying to maneuver his way across the room and was taking a sip, spilling more on himself and the carpet than he was getting into his mouth.

Kurt would've been upset that it would stain, but he couldn't find an ounce of anger in him. That was until he heard his phone ring, and recognized the tone as Paul's. Planning on simply screening it, he remembered the pledge they'd made two and half years ago that they would never call the other unless it was important, and neither was _ever_ to ignore a call from the other person. So he somehow managed to stand up and make his way to the dining room table. When he came back into the entertainment room, he still hadn't answered it, but Blaine was lying on his back, watching the movie from the floor.

"This movie is so dumb!" Blaine exclaimed. "I mean, who thinks dreams are real? That's just dumb. These people are dumb."

"Shh..." Kurt suppressed a chuckle, pointing to his phone, and pressing the answer key. "Hello?"

Blaine looked up and widened his eyes. "Who is it?" he whispered, trying to gain the balance to sit up.

"Hey _Paul_," Kurt smiled broadly.

"Hi, Kurt..._"_ he heard his assistant's voice from the other line sound a tad disapproving.

"_What are you guys up to tonight?"_

"We're just watching movies and-"

"Getting drunk!" Blaine shouted, laughing hysterically at himself.

Kurt giggled, failing at trying to cover his mouth from the receiver.

"Well, I can't say I wasn't expecting this," Paul spoke calmly, making Kurt even more giddy. "I just wanted to call and see what you guys were doing. It's nearly midnight, so you should probably just let Blaine spend the night."

"Any suggestions for _how_ we should spend the night?" Kurt asked letting his uncontrollable laughter take over. He was watching Blaine get to his feet in a very dramatic and almost unsuccessful manner.

Paul sighed. "No. Fucking. You get really emotional when you're drunk, and it just gets weird..._"_

"Paul, Paul, Paul, Paul," Kurt looked around the room for his drink before dragging his feet over to get it from the bookshelf. "Listen. It is perfectly natural for a grown man to cry after coming," he slurred, knowing that Blaine couldn't hear him, but really not caring if he could. "Plus, how would you know? We've never... I mean, not that I remember."

"No. But you've called me two or three times after, and you're not the best at making conversation when you're in hysterics_."_

"Oh," Kurt answered, taking a sip of his drink and looking over to where Blaine was failing miserably as pouring himself another glass.

Another sigh from the other line. "Just... remember condoms, Kurt. I don't want to have that conversation with your doctor again because you're such a slut."

"I am not a slut!"

Blaine had heard that one and started laughing all over again.

"I'll call you tomorrow, Kurt. Have a safe night._"_

"Hmph," Kurt groaned and hung up his phone. He could have given a list of reasons on how we was not a slut, but he didn't feel it was very appropriate since he was in fact feeling quite slutty at the moment. He knew for a fact that was taking advantage of Blaine, but to be honest, it didn't really phase him. His entire job revolved around making people fall in love with him, so it only felt natural to do it in a private setting as well.

"Blaine," he said, walking over and helping him with his drink. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

"Hell yeah!" Blaine smiled, taking the glass, but for the first time, not bringing it to his lips. "I think you're like a pretty prince. A pretty prince with really nice hair."

Kurt grinned charmingly. He tried to remember what Paul and Olive had mentioned about Blaine being "boyfriend material" or whatever, but he also wanted so badly to forget. He didn't _want_ a boyfriend. "Aww, I think you're pretty too."

Blaine blushed noticeably, glancing down at the drink in his hands.

"Did you still want that tour of my house?" Kurt asked, exciting himself with how genius this plan was turning out to be.

"Oh," Blaine looked up. "Yeah, sure. I mean, that'd be fun. Yeah."

"Okay," Kurt smiled and turned towards the stairs, before stopping, pivoting and going along with what he thought at the time to be his best plan yet. "But you have to promise me something, Blaine."

"Uh-huh." The man stood still, his big, hazel eyes staring up at Kurt's in what could only be described as drunken adoration and fright.

Kurt licked his lips slowly, and he could've sworn he saw a bead of sweat form on Blaine's brow. "Don't. Touch. Anything." He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Blaine's nervous nod. "Including me." He didn't wait for a response that time and turned back around to head up the stairs.

The first room he showed Blaine was his in-home office. The theme was obviously grey and wood and completely boring. Kurt hated the room, but Blaine seemed to intrigued by it, whether it was because of his drunken state or not was a mystery to Kurt. Dust probably would've been collecting on most of the shelves if it hadn't been for Paul's frequent sleepovers and the maid service. Kurt could honestly remember going in there once by himself.

"You're not actually interested in this room, are you?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," Blaine nodded, his voice cracking a little. "It's so _clean_."

"And we're moving on," Kurt ushered them both out of the room and down the hall.

The next room they saw was the first of three guest rooms. It was decorated red and gold and was admittedly pretty awesome. Kurt saw Blaine's anticipation as he fidgeted around with whatever was in his pockets. Blaine was rather cute when he was drunk and nervous, and truth be told, Kurt just didn't have the patience to show him the rest of the rooms in his house, so he made his way to his own bedroom.

"Welcome to my bedroom, Blaine," he grinned, opening the white door and stepping inside. Blaine followed him, studying his surroundings. Kurt felt a bit self-conscience about his bedroom, not because it wasn't totally clean, but because of its lack of personality. It almost could've been a hotel suite by the general look and design - white walls, blue carpet, navy bedsheets and an incandescent lightbulb glow. Not to mention all of the fucking mirrors. Kurt hated having mirrors in his room, but his stylist had insisted because it would've been a total fucking crime if he didn't look like he was stepping out of a magazine when he was actually just stepping out of his bedroom.

Blaine seemed pleased enough, and Kurt remembered what he was really here to do. And that was not impress Blaine with his decor.

He strutted over to his bed and sat on the edge gracefully, hardly even crinkling the sheets under him. "It's not much, but I guess it's home."

"It's, um, it's really nice," Blaine stuttered, obviously wanting so badly to reach out and touch _something_ but always being a gentleman by remembering his promise.

Kurt sighed and, as if he hadn't had this planned out from the beginning, rested his back against one of the posts on his bed. "I suppose you may sit down if you want."

Blaine hesitated, most likely knowing where this was going, and after what felt like forever to Kurt, Blaine sat down almost as far as possible as he could from Kurt on the bed. But Kurt remained patient. Though Blaine was wasted, he still didn't seem like the kind of guy that hooked up or had one night stands.

"So what do you think?"

"I like it," Blaine answered, and he sounded like a little kid, and damn, he really was adorable.

But that's totally not why he wanted to have sex with him, Kurt reminded himself. Like at all. Because if there was one thing Kurt didn't care about it was how adorable a guy was. All he cared about was if they were hot and had a penis. And Blaine fit both of those categories.

"Blaine," Kurt began, looking at him with heavy eyelids and fluttering lashes. "I don't believe you ever told me what you do."

"I'm, um, I," Blaine said confused, because he obviously _had_ told him his job; they had talked about it over dinner of course. "Interior designing?"

"No, no, no," Kurt shook his head. He held one hand up, "Girls..." And then the other, "Or boys. What do you do?"

Kurt noticed the hitch in Blaine's breath as he swallowed the question. When no response came, Kurt gave a fake gasp. "You don't do _both_, do you? I mean, nothing's wrong with a good bisexual but _damn_. I didn't peg you as that kind of a guy."

Eventually, Blaine did shake his head, no matter how minutely it turned out to be. When he finally answered, it came out as barely even a whisper. "No, just boys."

Kurt smirked almost evilly. He'd known for so long that hearing it out loud was rather unnecessary, but it was fun to hear Blaine admit it in front of a very out-of-the-closet famous model. He leaned in closer to Blaine, one hand pushing into the comforter between them. "What are the odds? Me too."

"Kurt-"

"Yes, Blaine?" He was leaning in quite close at this point, making sure Blaine noticed his gaze lingering over lips and fingers and thighs.

"Can I touch now?"

Kurt pretended to think about it for a moment before shrugging. "I guess. You can touch anything you want, Blaine."

Blaine's hands emerged from his pockets slowly, and he first touched the silk sheets and then the bedpost next to him before he finally looked back at Kurt. He reached out, placing his palm on Kurt's cheek, and his hands felt rough and warm on Kurt's cool skin, but Kurt loved the sensation, and it caused his spine to tingle.

Their mouths crashed together so fast, and it was all teeth and tongue, and not enough lips, so Kurt slowed it down, focusing on Blaine's top lip and bringing his hand up to place on the back of Blaine's neck. After a minute or two, Kurt climbed up onto his knees and Blaine turned around so he wasn't fumbling over his own balance.

"Fuck," Kurt muttered in between kisses.

"I want-" Blaine managed, his mouth sloppily trailing down Kurt's neck.

"What do you want, Blaine?" Kurt asked, one hand pushing through Blaine's thick curls as the other made its way down to his ass.

Blaine's lips were now pressing against Kurt's ear and hairline and fuck, he was a good kisser. "You're so hot, Kurt."

"Mm," Kurt moaned, growing hard quickly. He bucked up close to Blaine, squeezing his ass through his pants. "Tell me what you want. Let me give you what you want."

It was another minute before Blaine responded because their lips found each other's again and it was obvious that they both really liked _that_. When Blaine pulled away, he breathed slow and deep, grazing his lips over Kurt's earlobe. "I want to suck your cock."

Oh. _Oh._ That was actually unexpected. But completely acceptable. And it wasn't really a surprise that someone wanted to give him a blow job because honestly, most people that he hooked up with did at some point or another. He was just shocked that _Blaine_ suggested it. Sweet and innocent Blaine who hardly ever got drunk and had only wanted to help him pick out fruit.

Kurt must've nodded or something because Blaine was pushing him back onto the bed and crawling after him. Kurt reached down and pulled his own sweater over his head and threw it on the floor, making it easier for him to breathe in this new unbearable heat.

Blaine removed his own shirt, baring his toned and tanned chest, and Kurt couldn't help but stare. The man was clearly hot, so _why_ was Kurt thinking about how "sweet and innocent" he was? Why was he even thinking about him at all? He really needed to focus on the sex. Kurt removed his t-shirt and let Blaine see his chest.

"You," Blaine breathed out, pressing his lips on his stomach and licking around his navel, "are fucking beautiful."

Kurt realized just how delicious it was when Blaine cursed, and he wished he would do it forever. And as much as he loathed being called beautiful, it almost sounded nice coming from Blaine. Regardless, it made him horny as shit.

Blaine continued up Kurt's chest, sucking on his left nipple roughly with lots of teeth, as he fumbled around with the zipper and button on Kurt's jeans, but having no such luck in actually undoing it. Kurt's fingernails dug into Blaine's shoulders and ran down his back, surely leaving red marks all over. Soon enough, Kurt became frustrated with Blaine's inability to get his pants off, and shooed Blaine's hand away as he undid it himself. Blaine pulled his mouth away from Kurt just long enough to pull down Kurt's briefs, freeing his hardened cock.

Kurt knew Blaine was staring and took the opportunity to lift his ass off the bed and pull his jeans and briefs down to his thighs. He honestly didn't even care if his pants came all the way off yet; he just wanted Blaine to blow him as soon as possible.

"Kurt Hummel," Blaine spoke as if he playing out the situation that was going on in his head. Having sex with a famous model that he probably had a crush on for like years, blah blah blah. Kurt knew it was kind of a big deal for some people for whatever reason so he let him linger for a moment, but he quickly got tired of waiting.

"_Blaine_," he writhed. He was close to just jerking-off if this guy didn't start sometime soon.

It was obvious that Blaine was having second thoughts, and Kurt almost couldn't _stand _it. No one had second thoughts with him - especially when it involved the possibility of fucking him - so this was just incomprehensible. Kurt reached up with one hand, slipping his fingers in Blaine's curls and pulling him down. Blaine was clearly hard himself and so obviously wanted his mouth on Kurt, so why was he hesitating?

Blaine kissed the inside of Kurt's thigh and that was just _torture_.

"Jesus fuck," Kurt moaned, pulling on Blaine's hair with so much strength.

"You're so beautiful," Blaine whispered against Kurt's thigh, moving his mouth in the opposite direction than where Kurt wanted him to. "So. Fucking. Beautiful." A kiss after each word.

Kurt almost wanted to hit Blaine, and he was considering doing it if he called him beautiful one more time. He just didn't care! He didn't care about being beautiful or being kissed or "making love" or this fucking guy that he'd met today at Trader fucking Joe's. "Oh my _God_, Blaine. Hurry _up_."

Blaine must've felt Kurt's grip loosen on his hair and used the opportunity to pull away. He looked down at him, making eye contact and his facial expression just looked incredibly pained. "I- I can't do this."

The words and their meaning sliced through Kurt, but it felt more like a punch to the gut. "Why _not_?"

Blaine swallowed and shut his eyes tightly. It almost looked like he was going to throw up, and Kurt quickly planned an escape route if that were to start happening. He opened his eyes again and began to stutter uncontrollably. "You're- I mean- you're you. And I'm- we just met and- I don't-"

"Blaine," Kurt shook his head. "Stop it. You're confusing yourself. Just continue. I'm sorry if I was rushing you." This was way harder than he had planned.

"No, no," Blaine refused. "I can't. What are we even doing?"

"What do you mean?" Kurt snapped. All of this conversation was quickly turning him off. "We're having a fucking one night stand. You're gonna suck my dick, and if you're lucky, I'll return the favor. It's not that hard to fathom."

Blaine appeared queasy again, and Kurt really wanted to punch him now.

"Don't worry about it, oh my God," Kurt rolled his eyes. "I do this all the time."

Blaine frowned and sat back up straight as Kurt pushed himself up onto his elbows so they were more eye-level. Blaine didn't speak, but Kurt could read his expression loud and clear. It was all so sickening.

Kurt practically spat his words. "Don't even think you're fucking special because we ate dinner together and watched some movies. It wasn't a date, Blaine. This whole day wasn't the start to a relationship or friendship or anything. I feel bad for you if you didn't catch on, but you and every other person I've hooked up with mean shit to me. You are absolutely nothing to me."

Blaine wasn't crying, but he might as well have been. Slowly, and with what dignity he had left, he got out of Kurt's bed, picked up his shirt and left the room, closing the door behind him.

From his position on his bed, Kurt couldn't believe what had just happened. He'd been harsh on Blaine, yes, but it was all true! Guys had casual sex with Kurt because they knew about his reputation and inability to keep a boyfriend, but they weren't about to give up the opportunity to get in his pants. Sorry if Blaine was naive to this fact, but Kurt couldn't help that.

He also couldn't help thinking about Blaine's lips on his neck and nipple as he grabbed tissues from his nightstand and masturbated, quickly and quietly.

It wasn't fair! He'd given up his entire Saturday to Blaine, and he'd just stormed out! Not to mention, he made Kurt look like the bad guy, which he totally was _not_. Blaine was the one that even suggested it in the first place; Kurt couldn't be blamed for getting turned on! He took off all his clothes, slipped into his bed, and because he couldn't do anything else, closed his eyes to fall asleep.

But there was Blaine's face in his mind. Sweet and innocent and on the verge of tears.

It was almost impossible how much Kurt fucking hated himself.

The alarm clock next to Kurt's bed began buzzing loudly in his ear at nine o'clock in the morning, and he felt his hangover racing through his veins to reach every part of his body. He wished that for _one time_ he could sleep in without having to worry about appointments and meetings and phone calls and everything else that shouldn't occur on a Sunday morning. But Kurt could just not stand that God-awful beeping, and he rolled over to turn it off. His headache burned hot.

Groaning, Kurt sat up straight in his bed and looked around his room. The Wang sweater thrown messily on the floor instead of hanging nicely in his closet with the rest of his collection was the first reminder of what had happened the previous night. Not that Kurt needed a reminder. No, Saturday's events, despite the normal fogginess that came with intoxication, were fresh in his mind. He really wished they weren't.

More than anything that motivated Kurt to get out of bed was his curiosity. Blaine couldn't have driven last night. Maybe he was still asleep on the couch.

Kurt slipped out of his duvet, pulled on a robe over his naked body, and headed downstairs. Instead of finding another person in his house (which Kurt would never admit to be thankful or disappointed about), he simply came across a big mess: empty and half-filled wine bottles lying on their sides, shot glasses with no coasters underneath forming rings on the coffee table, alcohol staining the carpet and couches. It was pretty disgusting to say the least, and he was going to have to pay his cleaning ladies extra to deep clean the carpet.

Closing his eyes and massaging his temples slowly, Kurt just wished the entire night had never happened. Blaine might've gone home after giving him a ride and he would've drank alone and have a peaceful night. He sighed and opened his eyes, knowing he'd have to face the truth sooner or later, when he saw it sitting on the edge of table: 40 dollars was clearly set out for Kurt to notice.

What the hell was that even for? Did Blaine think he _owed_ Kurt for something? Apparently he did because there the money sat, no one else but Kurt in sight. This pissed him off more than anything else because there was nothing Kurt detested more than being treated like all he was worth was money. Even if they didn't have sex, he was not a fucking whore, and would be damned if he was treated like one.

He probably shouldn't have picked up the empty wine glass in the first place, because soon after he did, it went flying across the room, crashing into the wall, and shattering into pieces on the floor.

"Fuck you!" he yelled to no one and resisted the urge to kick the table over. What a terrible start to a day.

Ignoring the mess and the money, Kurt went to his kitchen, grabbed a cup of pre-made black coffee from his refrigerator, and stuck it in his microwave to heat up for a minute. As he waited, he began to wonder how Blaine got home the previous night. Hopefully he didn't drive, not for his sake of course, but for that of fellow drivers on the road. Yeah, he was pretty shitfaced. Kurt almost, _almost_ laughed as he remembered Blaine crawling around drunk on the floor, but once again, couldn't find the strength to smile. Plus, he shouldn't be smiling - he hated Blaine.

Yes, he thought. He hated Blaine. It made him feel a bit better deciding this, even if deep down, he knew it had to be somewhat of a lie. The microwave beeped, and Kurt reached in to get his coffee, promptly putting the steamy drink to his lips and taking a sip.

Shortly after, Kurt heard the muffled sound of his cellphone ringing from another room, and he walked back to the living room to search for it. It was still ringing when he found it stuffed between two couch cushions, and he pressed it to his ear. "Hello."

Paul obviously didn't catch on by Kurt's hoarse voice and annoyed attitude that he was not in a good mood, and he began right away.

"Morning, Kurt. You wanna meet at Sunrise for breakfast? We can discuss the Cosmo spread, and their non-fat menu is pretty good_."_

"I've got a killer hangover, Paul. Can we do like 11:30? Brunch, maybe?"

"Oh right..._" _Paul paused before answering with a small gasp. "Is that boy still there? Oh my God; am I interrupting something?_"_

"No," Kurt rolled his eyes. "He's long gone."

Paul sighed, but didn't seem really disappoint. "Damn. I really thought he might've had a shot to be the one_."_

"No way. He wasn't even _a _one."

"What do you mean?"

"We didn't even have sex. I mean, we were going to, but he left after like 5 minutes of making out." Kurt shook his head, remembering in detail what had happened. "Totally pointless."

"No. Kurt_,_" Paul started. "It sounds like you two had a _date._"

"It was _not_ a date-"

"You think that because you don't even know what a date is-"

"And you don't even know what happened!"

"Fine," Paul gave in. "Fine. You're right. Sunrise at 11:30 then... Wait. You don't have your car back yet. I'll pick you up at a quarter after."

"See you then, Paul," Kurt responded and hang up his phone. It was 9:15, so he had two hours to take a shower and get dressed and ready to go, which was more than enough time, and he-

Kurt was still glancing down at his phone when he came a newly added number in his contacts. Blaayne. He must've been more drunk than he remembered because the name was spelled completely wrong, and he had no memory of adding it in the first place. When he went to delete the number, he found it quite difficult and blamed it on the fact that, what if Blaine had Kurt's number in his phone? First off, that would just be terrible to deal with even though he didn't think Blaine would do anything with it. Secondly, what if he texted him? If he deleted the number, he wouldn't know who is was, and then he'd have that to deal with. Overall, he decided keeping the number in his phone would be the best best, for the time being at least, and he slipped in into his robe's pocket.

That night, as Kurt lay in his bed to go to sleep, he began wondering about the number in his phone again. What if it wasn't even Blaine? He'd messed up the name, so the chance was there that he messed up the digits as well. Now he didn't know whether to keep the number or delete it and everything was so fucking confusing, and oh God, _why_ was he even thinking about it anyway? It was so not important!

Kurt closed his eyes to go to sleep, but knew automatically it was a vain effort. Opening his eyes once again, he grabbed his phone off his nightstand and scrolled down to find "Blaayne."

"Fuck me," he muttered, preparing to type out a text message. He would simply make sure the number belonged to someone, ask them to delete his number from their phone, and be done with it.

All he could manage to send read, 'Is this Blaine?'

He waited for an automatic message that would say he had gotten an incorrect number and that therefore the message could not be sent, but no such thing came. Instead, the response that came said, 'Yes... Who is this?'

Kurt took a deep breath, decided that was enough for one night, set his phone down, and fell asleep.

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><em>Thank you for reading and reviewing!<em>


	4. Chapter 4

_Same Warnings/Disclosures from Chapter 1 apply._

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><p><em>"Trying hard to fill the emptiness.<br>The pieces gone, left the puzzle undone."_

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><p>Kurt spent the rest of August ignoring the terribly misspelled name in his phone contacts, working out, creating a Fall wardrobe with MUGLER, and sleeping with as many guys as possible. The End of Summer parties in and around Los Angeles were fantastic and stock full of gay men that found interest in Kurt Hummel, so finding someone to hook up with almost every night was no problem. However, finding someone that could even momentarily fill the piece of Kurt that was missing was a tad more difficult. There was one man, some B-List actor's stunt double, that made Kurt genuinely smile for a full night, but just as they were about to get into a taxi together, he called Kurt beautiful. It sounded gross and perverted to Kurt's ears, and he took it as an insult and ran.<p>

That same night was the first time in years that Kurt cried over a boy. The man from the party was far from his mind as his tears drenched his pillow, but Blaine Anderson's face filled his head, and Kurt realized he couldn't remember the color of his eyes. He sobbed and hated himself.

Truth be told, Kurt found it incredibly difficult to forget Blaine at all hours of the day. It was like he'd put some sort of spell on him, which was ridiculous of course because Kurt did _not _believe in magic. In fact, it was number six on the list of things he did not, could not, and would not believe in. Still, he couldn't get over the guy. It was pathetic.

He never texted him again, never talked about him, trying to make himself forget that this someone even existed. It didn't work at all. It was almost as if the harder he tried to forget, the better he remembered. There was also the fact that whenever he went to send a text or make a call to someone with a name that began with a B, there his name was, almost mocking him, daring him to either grow the balls to call him or just delete it already.

It wasn't until September second when Blaine finally came up in conversation.

Paul had invited Kurt to Busby's for a drink to take the load of the week off, and Kurt had no right mind to decline. Paul's wife had been sitting in the booth across from Paul when Kurt arrived, but promptly left when she saw him. He took her seat.

"I've ordered us Long Island Iced Teas, but if you want something else, we can send them back when they get here," Paul informed him when he sat down.

"It's fine," Kurt shook his head. "Anything that isn't Vitamin Water."

"I know it's been a rough week, what with the Kors runway and all, but I promise it's going to die down for a while," Paul began. "You only have two shoots this month, along with some Thursday events or something, but September is characteristically calm. And _then_ October ninth is the _Cosmo _spread..."

Kurt raised his eyebrows with excitement. "I still don't know what I'm going to say to Rick when I meet him."

"I could schedule a phone conversation before hand if you would like to talk to him first..."

"No, no," Kurt shook his head adamantly. He'd thought about that before, but it just didn't seem right. "I want our relationship to be completely natural and organic. A face-to-face encounter is a much better story to tell our grandkids about how we first met."

Paul laughed out and shook his head. "Oh God..."

Kurt chuckled a little himself - it'd be funnier if that could actually happen. "He's not gay; is he?"

"I don't think so," Paul shook his head. "But Terry _is_ photographing so you two may be making out for all I know."

"That's _true_," Kurt put his hand over his mouth. "_Fuck_."

"Fuck is right. You better not get a boner in the middle of the shoot."

"Oh shit," Kurt laughed out loud, and then their drinks came. They ordered spicy chicken wings and blue cheese, and Kurt knew he shouldn't be eating it, but a few wouldn't kill him. He'd had plenty of time to work it off before October.

The two of them chatted non-descriptively for a while and ate when the food came, and Kurt was on his third drink before Paul even asked how he was doing.

"I'm fine," he shrugged. He hated being asked that because he never knew what to say. At the moment, he was pretty great - drinking and eating junk food and actually having a decent time. Overall, he was okay. It was hard to give an exact answer.

"Have you talked to Carole recently?" Paul asked, relaxing back into his seat.

"Yep," Kurt nodded. "Uhh, I called her a couple weeks ago. She's, um... doing good."

"What about Finn?"

Kurt felt himself growing angrier with each question. He hated talking about his family because in all honesty, he _wasn't_ close with them. After his dad passed away and Kurt avoided college to move to LA, his step-brother resented him. His step-mom was all fucked up in the head for having lost two husbands, and she was on anti-depressants all the time, making her quite the roller coaster of emotions. Talking to either one of them stressed Kurt out, so he did it as infrequently as possible.

"Finn's fine," Kurt raised his hand to his forehead.

"Would you like me to schedule an appointment with Mr. Henderson for you? You haven't spoken to him in-"

"I don't need a fucking therapist," Kurt raised his voice and took a deep breath to try and calm himself down.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Kurt," Paul said, clearly used to Kurt's temper by the way he managed to keep cool. "Even _I _have a therapist."

"Congratulations," Kurt smiled sarcastically.

"Look, Kurt," Paul began, "it's my job as your PA to know if you are feeling sad, but it's my duty as your friend to know why. And it's my responsibility as a human being to try and change that. But I can't do that until you tell me what is making you this way."

"What way?"

"You know. This past month you've been only half-there anywhere we go. Something is obviously wrong."

Paul really was a good guy, and Kurt knew that. He was probably the only person in the world that Kurt could honestly trust and rely on. But he was a straight, athletic guy that had grown up in California with all of his family alive and well to support him, and even though Kurt had told him what life was like growing up for him, he could never really understand what he'd been through.

"I've just," Kurt sighed. Now was so not the time to talk about everything that had been on his mind. "I've been thinking about a lot lately. It's nothing."

"It doesn't seem like nothing," Paul pressured him to admit the truth. "And you know, I was thinking, and it mostly started after I saw that brunette guy at your house that one day."

Kurt concealed his shock and took a sip of his cold drink to stop himself from blushing. This was so not happening... "There have been like thirteen brunette guys at my house in the past three weeks alone, Paul."

"You know which one I am talking about," Paul continued. "I'm sure you do."

"I'm sure I don't." The spicy sauce from the wings began churning in his stomach, and he felt sick and hot. Talking about Blaine like he was a real person again was making him need to escape the situation as quickly as possible.

"You haven't been seeing him, have you? Like going on dates behind my back?"

"_Paul_." He was warning him. One problem with Paul was his tendency to assume, and it made Kurt nauseous.

"I mean, I guess it's none of my business, but you've been hooking up at parties all month, and that's just not right, Kurt."

If Kurt were to sit there any longer, he was sure he was going to throw up, so he quickly excused himself and made his way to the bathroom where he locked a stall and knelt down in front of the toilet. The air in the restroom was much cooler and actually helped Kurt feel better, but he still wanted to puke to just get rid of all of the gross food in his stomach. The chicken wings were literally paining him from the inside out.

Knowing his body wasn't going to be able to do it by itself, Kurt reached a finger into the back of his throat, and after a moment of gagging, he felt the contents of his stomach coming back up his throat and emptying into the toilet in front of him. As he purged, he wondered how people could do this on a regular basis. Being a model, Kurt knew so many people with diseases where they threw up after they ate or simply did not eat at all. One thing he didn't hate about himself was his obsession with being healthy. Plus, the smell was just hell.

Soon after he was done barfing, Kurt heard a knock on his stall door.

"Hey, dude, do you need me to call you a cab?"

Oh perfect. They thought he was drunk, and after that was out of his system, drunk was one thing he was not. He reached up and flushed the toilet, but didn't stand up yet.

"No," he answered. "But would you politely fuck off?"

There was a pause from the man, but his feet didn't move, so Kurt knew he was still standing there waiting.

"Kurt?"

Shit, shit, shit. Someone must've recognized him. That _never_ happened in a sport's bar like Busby's. With no other escape route, Kurt stood up gracefully, brushed off any dirt that had gotten on his knees or ass and opened the door.

Holy motherfucking shit.

"Uhh... hey," Blaine said, standing frozen in front of the stall. He was wearing a white and blue striped collared shirt with a black bow-tie loose around his neck, and why the fuck was Kurt noticing his bow-tie?

"What are you doing here?" was all Kurt could manage to say.

"Watching the game," Blaine answered slowly, as if saying the wrong thing would push Kurt off a cliff, which, considering his track record with the guy, just might have. "What about you?"

"I'm here with Paul," Kurt responded, realizing he was gaping. "We're just, um, having drinks and talking about work." He was officially at a loss for words, and because he was stuck in this situation with neither one of them wanting to or being able to move, he asked the stupidest thing he could have asked. "Who's playing?"

"UCLA and San Jose," Blaine answered. "We're winning."

Kurt had no idea what either of those teams were or what "we" meant, but he nodded because it sounded like it was a good thing. Maybe it was because he'd spent the past month thinking about Blaine or because their time together actually had felt like a date, but Kurt felt like he owed him something. And then he remembered the forty dollars.

"I should probably get back to-"

"What was the money for?" Kurt interrupted him. This was something that had been eating him up inside for the longest time. He needed to know.

"The- what?" Blaine asked, confused.

"You left forty dollars sitting on my table in my living room. What was it for?"

Realization clicked on Blaine's face and he nodded. "For Olive, I guess. Her meal really was delicious."

"Oh," Kurt responded, biting his bottom lip and looking down. He felt insanely sheepish for thinking it had been for anything different.

"And for you," Blaine shrugged. "Listen, Kurt, I'm so sorry about what happened that night. I knew I shouldn't have drank that much, and to be honest, I hardly remember anything past dinner. It was a bad move on my part."

Kurt swallowed, and he felt like dying. Blaine most likely didn't even remember them making out, let alone anything he'd said to him after. Everything that he'd been worrying about for the past few weeks suddenly seemed so mundane and pointless, yet he couldn't shake the idea that this wasn't the end of all the thoughts he constantly had involving Blaine. It didn't feel like closure enough for him.

"You don't remember... anything?" Kurt didn't know why he was being so timid and speechless and damn stupid, but he couldn't help it.

"I remember some things," Blaine admitted, looking down to his shoes for a moment before back up to Kurt's eyes.

Hazel, Kurt thought. Blaine's eyes were hazel. Why was this so important to know?

"Good because I don't feel like having to refresh your memory."

"Kurt," Blaine began, "I think that what happened that night would be best if forgotten. It was honestly one of the most confusing and weird days of my life, and I've been trying to forget it since it happened-"

"But you haven't been able to?" Kurt interrupted him, hopeful that he wasn't alone in this situation. Maybe Blaine had been the same problem as him. Maybe it was normal to feel this way.

Blaine paused, and Kurt could feel his eyes studying his facial expression, searching for some sort of emotion that Kurt was obviously terrible at conveying. Kurt raised his eyebrows slightly in hopes that this wouldn't look too awkward on his face.

"I have to go," was all Blaine could say and started towards the bathroom door. He placed his hand on the handle, paused, and turned his head back to Kurt, who was watching him from the stall. "It was you who texted me that night, wasn't it?"

"It depends," Kurt managed to say. "Did you save my number?"

Blaine smiled, opened the door, and left.

Although calm on the outside, Kurt was livid. He stomped over to the sink, and hot water rushed over his hands. He didn't want to look up at his reflection, but did so out of habit, and it took everything in him not to reach up and smash the mirror into pieces. He despised himself to the point of hostility, and Blaine had only made it worse by being kind and saying fucking sorry when Kurt was obviously the one in need of apologizing. The whole thing was utter bullshit. Kurt wanted to scream.

Somehow containing himself, Kurt made his way out of the bathroom and back to his booth. The food was gone and a whiskey sour replaced his empty drink. "Give me a cigarette."

"Kurt, you don't smoke," Paul reminded him calmly.

"I don't give a fuck. I want a cigarette."

"No."

Kurt sighed and sat down. He really did hate smoking, and while some models did it to keep their weight down, he knew it was killing them. Still, the thought of one cigarette for calming him down every now and again was a far-off dream.

"Drink up," Paul pushed the glass closer to Kurt. "I have to add the edits to your portfolio tonight, and I'd like to be done before eight."

Kurt put the glass to his lips, but spent more of his attention looking around the pub to try to find the familiar mess of curls. Blaine must've been seated at the bar or something because he was no where in Kurt's sight.

"Nicola just called, by the way," Paul added. "He's going to send over a sample of his new collection, but I told him I'd make you promise that you won't wear anything south of Santa Monica. He says the southern LA area is not something he wants to involve himself in."

Paul was laughing, and yes, it was a little bit ridiculous, but Kurt wasn't totally focusing anyway. He nodded and took a sip from his drink. "Okay."

"I said you wouldn't even catch _yourself_ in Compton, so he had nothing to worry about."

All of a sudden, there he was. Surrounded with friends, Blaine was leaving the restaurant, glancing back at the people inside one last time.

Almost as soon as Kurt spotted him, he stood up, knowing if he let himself think about it for very long, he'd either talk himself out of it, or it'd be too late. He didn't take his eyes off the front of pub as he spoke. "Grab the check, Paul. Thanks for everything. I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Kurt, what are you-"

"I gotta go," Kurt stumbled out of the booth and towards the exit. The late summer heat hit him when he got outside, but he didn't let it phase him as he searched for Blaine. When he saw him, walking towards his car with two other guys, he realized he didn't know what to do. He couldn't just walk up and say what he was thinking. What was he thinking anyway?

Luckily, Blaine looked back for a moment, and he must've seen Kurt standing alone for he said something quickly to his friends and slowly walked back towards the restaurant.

"Please don't make this harder than it has to be," Blaine began, almost whispering.

"Blaine," Kurt said, and here it came. He was going to lay it all out on the line. He was baring himself in the most intimate way he knew how: letting himself be vulnerable. "I don't know what it is about you, but I have not stopped thinking about you since I met you. I don't even know if it's good thoughts or bad thoughts, but I just have this picture in my mind of you and it's gnawing away at me. And I just, I don't know why." He paused to try and make out any emotion in Blaine's eyes, but he didn't know what he was looking for. "Most of the time, I just, I wish I had never met you. Other times, I wished we could've just fucked and forgotten about each other. But sometimes, and it's really the part that I hate the most, because God dammit, I haven't thought about anyone like this since high school, sometimes I just wish I knew you. You were so different. And _shit_, I surely regret comparing you with those other guys because no one has _ever_ made me think so hard about them."

When Kurt was done, he stepped back into his body because there was no way it could've possibly been him who had said all those things. He felt weird and crumbly and fragile, and he wished he could evaporate.

"Kurt-"

"And I am sorry, Blaine. Truly, I-"

"_Stop_," Blaine nearly begged. "Just please... please stop."

Kurt did stop, but he didn't know what for. Blaine's eyes were closed, and Kurt imagined he was trying to process everything, and as soon as they opened, he prepared himself for the worst.

"Do you know how hard it was for me to get over you, Kurt?" Blaine asked. Kurt didn't respond, but he continued anyway. "I spent the longest time just beating myself up about what you said to me, and I was just starting to forgive myself so don't, _don't _ apologize. It took me a week to stop driving past your house, two weeks to delete your number from my phone, and just when I think I can get over one _insignificant _night, you show up here telling me _that_. What do you expect me to do, Kurt? Because I can't do all three of those things."

"I just. I don't know," Kurt admitted. He'd never thought about the situation from Blaine's point of view, and that was one more thing to add to list of reasons to hate himself.

"It should be easy to forget me," Blaine told him. "You don't even know me."

Kurt wished and hoped and prayed to a God he didn't believe in that that could be true. He would do anything to forget Blaine now, but he somehow knew he never would.

Out of nowhere, Blaine let out a small laugh. "You _really_ screwed me up for a while there."

Kurt furrowed his eyebrows because that was the most offensive and disrespectful thing anyone had said to him in the longest time, and he might've just hit Blaine if he wasn't so frozen in shock. But Blaine was laughing - he couldn't have been _that_ serious about it. And to be fair, he felt the exact same way about Blaine that he did about him, so hitting Blaine would've been like hitting himself, which actually didn't seem like such a bad idea.

Kurt's head fell, and he bit his lip to stop from laughing himself. "I could say the same about you."

"Kurt," Blaine said, and they made eye contact again. "So this is goodbye then. Neither of us have to worry about what we might've said or done wrong, and we can just stop feeling guilty or resentful or hurt or however you've been feeling. I think it's for the best."

All Kurt could say was, "Okay."

Blaine turned around to go back to his car, and Kurt didn't know what he wanted. He'd been wanting closure for so long that finally having it felt like something was missing from him. He didn't have the burden of his mistake on him anymore, and it somehow made him feel too light and too hollow. Had it really been that easy?

Kurt was too perplexed to really notice Blaine stopping in the middle of the street. He felt he could only see the outline of a person coming toward him, but the blurriness of Kurt's vision ceased almost as soon as Blaine's lips encountered his. Blaine was kissing him, and it was so inappropriate and out of the blue, and Kurt wanted to just push him off. Who the fuck did he even think he was? He brought his hands up to Blaine's shoulders to remove his body from him, but he felt a tongue inside his mouth that didn't belong to him, and the only way that could've even gotten there was if he had allowed it, and Kurt realized he had been kissing him back.

It was simultaneously everything that he'd been longing for for the past three weeks and the worst possible thing that could've ever happened. They continued to kiss.

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks for reading and reviewing, of course! :)


	5. Chapter 5

_Same warnings/disclosures from chapter 1 apply. This chapter contains a scene of violence at the end. It's not extremely graphic, but it's fairly intense and does include some homophobic slurs/context. I don't discourage you from reading though!_

* * *

><p>When Kurt was in seventh grade, his best friend was Mickey Saunders. Mickey didn't like much of anything, except video games, and since Kurt didn't have many friends at all, he went over to his house and played video games with him despite his general disinterest in the activity. And besides becoming reasonably good at Halo and Call of Duty, Kurt developed quite the crush on Mickey.<p>

It had been Kurt's first _real _crush, at least that's what he'd written in his journal many a time, but Mickey had no interest in guys whatsoever. To be fair, Kurt was never really sure if Mickey had any interest in girls either, but it seemed more plausible.

One day, towards the end of the school year, after Kurt found out that Mickey was going to be moving to Illinois soon, he decided he didn't have much to lose. And if what he would be asking worked out, it'd actually be friggin sweet. So as Mickey slipped the game into the Xbox, Kurt took a deep breath.

"Would you like to kiss me?"

Mickey grabbed two controllers, paused, and turned to look at Kurt with scrunched eyebrows. "Fuck no," he answered, handed Kurt a controller, and began setting up the game.

Kurt realized he was blushing more from the vulgarity than his own embarrassment and proceeded to kill zombies.

The day that Mickey left for Illinois, Kurt wrapped a Gameboy game in some Christmas paper, and handed it to him.

"You can play it in the car ride there," he offered.

Mickey tore the paper off quickly, and handed the game back to Kurt. "I already have this game."

Kurt never played the game and never heard from Mickey again. He'd never really expected to.

During the next five years, Kurt was kissed a total of two times, and neither were as satisfying as he imagined that first kiss with Mickey would've been, although there was no way he could've known. Still, neither making out with a girl in his bedroom nor being forced into an actual boy-on-boy kiss in the locker room was very... pleasurable.

After Kurt moved to California, the amount of kisses he dished out and received grew substantially. And not just lips either. Kurt couldn't count the number of necks and ears and chests his lips had come in contact with in the past five years, and while that might have made him a little bit of a slut, he always could pride himself on not forcing anyone to kiss someone they didn't want to.

Kissing Blaine was a completely different experience. Kissing Blaine was opening his soul, letting his inhibitions run wild and free, tasting lips that, while so like every other person on earth's, tasted insanely and deliciously different. Being kissed by Blaine was just indescribable. Which is exactly why, as soon as they pulled away from each other, staring into each other's eyes with so much guilt and so much hurt, Kurt ran to his car, got in, and drove off.

For the first few minutes, Kurt was on the verge of hyperventilating and didn't get anywhere besides out of the parking lot and down the road. When he calmed down, he pulled onto the highway and began driving home.

Okay, he thought. It would be okay. He'd call Paul when he got home, apologize for being so rude, and go to sleep. It was only seven pm, but that was totally fine. He could go to the gym tomorrow! Yeah, that would get his mind off things.

_Things_. What a ridiculous word. It wasn't things, it was Blaine. It was Blaine, and Kurt hated himself for allowing such stupid thoughts to cloud his mind. It had been Blaine for the past month, and it would be Blaine for at least another month after that kiss.

Kurt was just having a terrible, terrible day.

At a quarter past one in the morning, Kurt woke up for two reasons. The first and main reason was that the Ambien he had taken that evening had worn off, but the more obvious reason had to be that he had the unmistakable feeling of a wet dream on his thighs. Kurt rolled his eyes and climbed out of his bed. He did not understand why that had to happen to him - he was a 23 year old man who had plenty of casual sex to keep his body satisfied! Fuck Blaine Anderson, making him have sex dreams and whatnot.

With a deep sigh, Kurt pulled the sheets off his bed and threw them into a pile in the corner of his room - someone would clean those for him in the morning. Meanwhile, he decided he really needed a shower regardless and turned on the hot water. As he stood naked in front of the mirror, waiting for the warm water to heat up, he suddenly began to feel lonely.

This was obviously a huge lie, because Kurt always felt lonely. It was never enough to make him want to go out and get a husband and kids obviously, but it was there.

He shook the thought away as he climbed into his shower and cleaned himself.

Half an hour later, Kurt stood in his robe in front of his bed. He really didn't feel like putting a new sheet and comforter on, so he grabbed a small, fleece blanket from his closet. After letting his robe fall to the floor, Kurt wrapped the blanket around him and sat back against his pillows. He wasn't tired enough to go back to sleep, but was too lazy to really do anything exciting. And at almost two o'clock am, there surely wasn't anything interesting on TV.

He grabbed his cellphone from next to his bed and scrolled through his contacts. He knew he was avoiding thinking about the inevitable: he held, in his hands, the only chance he and Blaine had for a relationshh

Oh shit. He almost thought the word that would kill him if it got the opportunity. No, no, no. _Fuck _no. He and Blaine were never going to have a relationship if he had any say in it, friendly, sexual, _or _romantic. The idea nearly made him gag.

Kurt's fingers must've been on a different brain wave or something because soon enough, he found himself composing a text message for Blaayne.

'Stop masturbating to Kurt Hummel.'

There. That was vague enough. That would leave him guessing.

Kurt secretly hoped the opposite.

The response came quicker than he'd expected, it being so late at night.

'Um... who is this?'

Kurt thought about this for a moment. He could've easily revealed his identity, but then Blaine might not have wanted to talk to him. Then again, if he pretended to be someone else, he would not know what to say since he didn't know any of Blaine's friends. Still, he decided on the latter.

'Your best friend. I changed my number.'

Yeah, Kurt smirked. Blaine would've obviously told his best friend, and even if he hadn't, Kurt was fairly known amongst Blaine's kind so it could've just been a lucky guess.

'Adam?'

Oh God. Blaine was friends with people named things like _Adam_. It was so normal and boring and perfect. But Kurt wasn't jealous, like, at all.

'You bet. Now stop searching porn and go to sleep.'

'I'm working.'

Kurt rolled his eyes. What could he possibly be working on this late? He like bought furniture for other people's homes or some shit.

'Yeah, your hand.'

And so what if the idea of Blaine getting off by himself in his room in the dark was a little stimulating to Kurt? He could dream. And he did, obviously - his pile of sticky sheets could prove that.

'No. Leave me alone.'

Okay, so either Blaine was actually a huge bitch in real life, or he was just terrible at portraying sarcasm over text message.

'Hey, chill out, asshole.'

Kurt could almost see Blaine sighing and feeling bad about being so rude. It was kind of endearing.

'I'm sorry man. I just need some sensitivity after what happened tonight...'

So Blaine _had_ told his friends. Kurt knew he's what they were talking about, because come on, what else could have been that exciting for Blaine in one day? Maybe this Adam guy had been at Busby's. Kurt tried to remember the others' faces, but honestly all he could think about was Blaine kissing him so suddenly and demandingly, while still remaining kind.

'Oh, you still have feelings for him?'

Maybe that was crossing the line, but it was worth a shot.

'Feelings? I don't know about that. But what he said today just got me thinking.'

'About?'

Kurt waited for a while, and he began to regret even texting Blaine. What if Adam had texted him from his real number, and Blaine had figured out it was someone else, and was like calling the cops or something? Shit, Kurt had made some bad decisions, but he couldn't have the press talking about the police doing an investigation about him.

His phone finally buzzed a few minutes later.

'What if he says that to every guy he meets? He made it very clear last month when he said how little I meant to him, and I get that. That, I could handle. Sure, I beat myself up about it for a while, but it made sense. But what he said today about how he couldn't stop thinking about me? It killed me inside. Because if it's true and not just some bullshit lie he feeds to everyone, it means I did something right. But even after I kissed him today like the idiot I am, he just ran off. He probably fucking hates me.'

A follow up text came a few seconds after.

'Sorry to rant.'

Kurt read the message about 34 times before he could even focus on anything other than how much he fucking hated himself. What a terrible person he'd been to Blaine. How could anyone in the entire world like Kurt at all?

'Blaine?'

'Yeah...?'

Kurt took a deep breath and typed out the next message.

'This isn't Adam. This is Kurt. I don't hate you, and... I'm sorry.'

Even that was too vague, and he tacked on 'For everything' for good measure and sent it. He wasn't expecting a text back, so he set the phone down and lay down on his side. He hoped he had nightmares; he deserved them.

Three days later, Kurt finally got a text back.

'I forgive you.'

* * *

><p>It took Kurt four days.<p>

The day he received the text from Blaine, he was in the middle of a rigorous work out routine with his trainer, Sylvia, and she had reprimanded him for even looking at his cellphone, so he had no time to even think about it, let alone type out a response. He decided not to do anything about it that day. He would need a bit more time to think it through.

The day after, Kurt purposefully left his phone at home when he went out shopping with his stylist, so he physically couldn't text Blaine. All he thought about while picking out and trying on clothes was what he would say if he were to even say anything. Maybe Blaine didn't even want to talk to him anymore. He had his number just the same, but hadn't texted, let alone called, since Tuesday. Then again, what if he was thinking the same thing about Kurt, taking so long to text back.

The third day, he decided he was going to have to respond sooner or later. His mind was in a constant race, confusion causing him headaches, and sometimes, he was even sick to his stomach thinking about it.

On the fourth day, Kurt realized how silly he was being. Not texting Blaine for fear of hurting someone's feelings was like the most idiotic reason he could have, but it had been the reason that had prevented him from doing it for so long.

He had been invited to a party that he'd been planning to go to when he pulled out his phone and typed a simple, one-worded text message to Blaine. It was the scariest word in Kurt's vocabulary.

'Friends.'

He made a point of it not to tack on a question mark, because that would make it seem like he was asking a question, and would therefore of had the opportunity to be shut down. He suspected he could still be shut down if Blaine didn't text him back at all, but the idea hardly crossed his mind. Blaine didn't seem to be able to stay away from Kurt.

Kurt got dressed for the party, drank half a bottle of wine, and after he called a cab to come pick him up, he noticed he'd missed a message from Blaine. He realized he was smiling, and quickly stopped himself.

'Kurt?'

Sighing, he typed out an answer. 'That's my proposition. You and I as friends. I could use a couple more of those anyway.'

Fifteen minutes later, the taxi was outside of Kurt's house, and when he went out to get in, his phone began to ring. It was Blaine.

"Hey," Kurt said, placing the phone to his ear.

"Kurt, are- are you-"

"Yes," he interrupted him. "I'm sure."

There was a silence on the other end, and Kurt held up one finger to the cab driver to tell him to wait a minute. Eventually, he continued.

"I don't see a problem with it, and quite frankly, I don't see why you would. In fact, I'd really like to be your friend, Blaine."

A short pause, and then, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll be your friend, Kurt," Blaine said. "I'll- yeah."

"Alright then," Kurt kept a straight face on the outside, but inside, it was hard to deny his excitement. To be honest, Kurt wasn't really doing too well in the friends-that-don't-work-for-him department, and anyone that he could consider more than an acquaintance was most likely a model that he only hung out with at events or shows. Blaine would be his first non-work-related friend since high school. And maybe he was a little too excited and couldn't really remember how to be a friend or what he was supposed to do now. "What are you doing tonight?"

"I'm, um, I was just going to work on some designs, and then just hang out around the house, or-"

"Is it vitally important?"

"Well, no."

"Good," Kurt smirked.

The cab driver yelled that he was going to start the meter if Kurt didn't hurry up, but Kurt just responded with his middle finger.

"Get dressed, and meet me at this party my agency is throwing in Glendale. I'll text you the address."

"Are you sure?"

Kurt huffed and made his way towards the taxi. "_Yes_. But hurry up, okay, because I'm about five shots away from being smashed, and I don't wanna be alone when that happens."

Blaine chuckled, and it was fucking adorable, and Kurt found himself smiling as he got into the cab.

"Yeah, I'll be there. See you soon, Kurt."

Kurt hung up his phone, and typed out the address to send to Blaine. When he looked up to the rearview mirror, he saw the driver staring at him harshly. "Glendale Avenue."

"Took you long enough."

"Shut up and drive, or I'll call your boss and tell him how you sexually harassed me."

The driver obviously had nothing to say to that and turned the car to drive. Kurt sat back in his seat smugly and anticipated the party he was headed to.

* * *

><p>"Kurt Hummel!"<p>

Kurt heard the high-pitched and well intoxicated voice behind him, and he widened his eyes in fear. Turning around, he saw Mel Tomay making her way towards him. He smiled falsely and extended his arms for a hug. Mel was tall, thin, gorgeous, and like most models that Kurt knew, a complete bitch. He despised her, but they had so many events together that it would be unprofessional to ignore her or even act like he felt.

"_Mel_!"

"Kurt, I-" she wrapped her arms around him, and he had to help her stand back up straight. "I have been looking everywhere for you, mister."

"I just got here," he nodded, wishing her away as soon as possible.

"My boyfriend broke up with me!" she blurted, but it was hard to see any signs of upset in her expression. She seemed rather... amused by it actually.

"Oh, I'm sorry..."

"Yeah," Mel continued, hanging onto Kurt's shoulder. "He said, 'It's not you, it's me.'"

"Ouch, that's-"

"Yeah, but it really _was_ him."

"What do you mean?"

"He's gay!"

Kurt's jaw dropped, and he tried not to bust out laughing, but it really was a challenge. He didn't know who Mel's boyfriend was, but if he was actually gay, then that was just hysterical. If he wasn't, well, props to him for pulling that off. Kurt once had to tell a guy that was coming on far too strong that he was straight, but the guy hadn't believed it for a second. Then again, Kurt knew Mel wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed; she'd fall for anything.

Mel must've noticed Kurt's expression, and she began again. "Yeah, so _you_ should date him."

"Oh, no, Mel. I don't think-"

"No, really! You should! His dick is _huge_!"

Kurt breathed out slowly. He truly couldn't stand Mel at the moment. She was annoying sober, but annoying as fuck when drunk. "Mel, I think you should go home." How was she even this wasted yet? It wasn't even ten pm.

"_Kurt_," she whined. "I don't wanna go home! Steven is at home!"

"I'm sorry, hun, but you have had far too much to drink, and I can't-"

"It's not _fair_, Kurt! Who am I gonna make out with now? Oh my God, will _you_ make out with me?"

Kurt was moments away from smacking Mel across the face when his phone began to ring. Pulling it out of his pocket, he let out a sigh of relief when he saw the name Blaayne appear on the screen. "Terribly sorry, Mel. I have to take this," he gave her one final push off of him and placed the phone by his ear. "Thank _God_. Are you here?"

"Yeah, I'm outside. Do I just... come in?"

"Yes, yes. Just come to the door. I'll- ugh," Kurt pushed past people to go back to the front of the house. He was practically screaming into his phone. "I'll be waiting to let you in."

He hung up his phone, slipped it into his pocket, and peeked out the window next to the front door. In the midst of all the cars, he spotted Blaine, walking up to the house, checking his phone to make sure he had the right address, and Kurt bit his lip. Blaine was too adorable for his own good really, and Kurt had to remind himself they were just friends for now. No, he told himself. Not just for now. Friends didn't fuck each other. Kurt sighed when he realized that.

"Hi!" he exclaimed after opening the door.

"Hey," Blaine half-smiled, walking inside cautiously. "I was almost scared that you'd sent me to some random house."

Kurt frowned, shutting the door behind him. "You're going to have to trust me more, Blaine. Now that we're friends."

"You're right," Blaine nodded, gazing around the room full of loud, drunken people before finally making eye contact with Kurt, and his hazel eyes shone brighter than ever before. Kurt wanted to kiss him, and didn't try to deny it, but held back regardless, putting in a real effort to make this friendship work.

"So," Blaine began again, have to been noticing the way Kurt was staring at him, "are you going to introduce me to the people you work with?"

"Hell no," Kurt shook his head quickly. "They are _far_ too boring. But I'm up for meeting new people if you are."

"Kurt," Blaine smiled, "everyone here is new to me."

"Right..." Kurt nodded, looking around and spotting a waiter bringing around glasses full of champagne. He called him over and took a glass for himself. "Would you like a glass?"

Blaine shook his head. "None for me. I plan on driving tonight."

"Ah," Kurt said, but knew the real reason: Blaine didn't want to get into any of the same mess that they'd gotten into last time they drank together. "More for me then." He took a sip of the drink.

They were on the verge of slipping into an awkward silence when Paul walked up next to Kurt and gave him a quick one-armed hug. "Kurt, I didn't think you were going to make it, what with being so down in the dumps this week. I'm glad you could though; I _have_ to introduce you to this designer. Her name's Mariella; she's nineteen, an NYU dropout, and has already worked with Gisele. She's got a future in this business for _sure_. Are you-"

Kurt held his jaw shut tightly, and once he was certain he had Paul's attention, he moved his eyes to Blaine. Paul was really oblivious sometimes.

"Oh! You didn't tell me you... _Blake_?"

"Blaine," Kurt said through gritted teeth.

Paul turned to Kurt with a slightly dropped jaw that rose into a smile before turning back to Blaine. He stuck out his hand to shake Blaine's. "I'm sorry I didn't see... Did Kurt invite you here?"

Blaine nodded with a shrug. "It's okay. It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see _you_! I'm glad you could come. I'll just let you two be then," Paul turned and pulled Kurt in for another hug, whispering in his ear. "You seriously have some explaining to do."

"Yes, Paul," Kurt grinned and pulled away from the hug. "I'll see you later."

Paul walked away with a wink in Kurt's direction, and Kurt dramatically let out a breath that he'd been holding in. "He always shows up at the worst times, yeah?"

Blaine shrugged again, but was smiling. "He seems like a nice guy."

"He is," Kurt agreed, truthfully. "Now what do you say we go meet this Mariella chick?"

"Oh, I'm dying to," Blaine nodded, and they began to search the party.

* * *

><p>Kurt was drunk, but at least he was aware enough to know this, because there had been times when we was so wasted, he convinced himself he was sober. No, he wasn't quite shitfaced, but he could feel his blood-alcohol level causing a sort of cloud on his judgement. Blaine, however, hadn't had a sip of alcohol the whole night.<p>

"I'm sorry if you're having a terrible time," Kurt shouted above the music and fellow noisy people.

Blaine shook his head, and he looked truthful enough. "I'm not."

They were seated on a couch in the den, probably a little closer than friends would sit, but that's how everyone in the room was, so it didn't look or feel unnatural. And as Kurt's thigh rubbed against Blaine's, he found it rather pleasing, and he might've done it on purpose a couple times too many.

"It's just," Kurt downed the last bit of his drink and set the glass down on a nearby table, "everyone else is drunk, and you're not."

"It's okay," Blaine tried to assure him. "I'm used to it."

"That's _right_!" Kurt remembered. "You're not a drinker. You told me that, right? Said it had to do with something that happened in high school?"

"Yep," Blaine nodded. "And I tried it again in college, and it was just never my thing."

"You went to _college_?" Kurt asked before remembering that that was something that quite a few people did. "Where?"

"The Art Institute. Here in LA. I just graduated last year."

"That's _awesome_!" Kurt exclaimed. "I was gonna go to college. Did the whole deal actually: applied, got accepted into Juilliard, had an apartment picked out with my best friend. I was so excited."

Kurt didn't realize how much he was telling Blaine until he noticed how sad he was becoming. He really had been dead set on that school, and he'd been devastated when he had to give it up. He didn't _have_ to give it up, he supposed. Rachel still went. But once his dad passed away, he didn't want anything to do with his whole life, which was one of the main reasons he'd let that dream slip away. He constantly tried to tell himself that modeling was his dream all along, but it never had been. He liked doing it, of course. But he definitely missed performing and that magical feeling of singing and dancing on stage.

"Why, um, why didn't you go?" Blaine asked carefully.

"My dad died." The words were out of Kurt's mouth faster than he could sensor them.

Blaine's facial expression sharpened for a moment before quickly softening again. "Kurt, I-"

"I know," Kurt nodded and went through the typical responses. "You're sorry; you shouldn't have brought it up; you feel bad. Don't, okay? I've been hearing it since I was eight when my mom passed away, and anything you say won't bring them back, so don't even worry about it."

Blaine was frozen with an open jaw, and Kurt stood up.

"I have to piss. I'll be back."

Kurt stumbled toward the bathroom, but when he tried the handle and it was locked, he decided he needed some fresh air, and made his way to the front door. It was cooler outside, although not by much, and Kurt began walking down the sidewalk.

It was so not fair that Rachel fucking Berry got to go to Juilliard and sing her way through college in the greatest city that ever existed, and Kurt was stuck in the Los Angeles heat where he had a high school diploma and some magazine covers to his name. He made pouty faces in front of a camera for a living, and Rachel sold out Broadway shows eight times a week. That could've been him! It should've. Hell, it should've been them _together. _

But Kurt hadn't spoken to her in years. She'd tried to keep in touch, but Kurt was far too proud to return her phone calls after only one year of living in LA. He'd been such an asshole to her and all of his old friends. He deserved his punishment.

Kurt didn't realize how far he'd been walking when he felt a pressure on his bladder and remembered that he actually did have to use the bathroom. Unfortunately there were none in sight, so he took the next turn off the sidewalk he could so he was officially out of the neighborhood before pulling down his zipper and pissing on a wall. It was dark, but Kurt was too intoxicated to care about someone seeing anyway. He had just finished buttoning his pants back up when two guys approached him.

"Sorry man," Kurt mumbled. "I just had to take a leak."

"It's cool, bro," one of the men responded. "Do you wanna buy some pictures?"

Kurt scrunched up his eyebrows, not knowing what the man was talking about. Who sold photos at one am on a random street? The other guy held out what must've been "samples" and okay, that was far more tits and vagina than he ever wanted to see.

"Um, no thanks."

"Oh, come on," one said. "You obviously live around here. We know you got money."

"Yeah, just buy a few for you and your dudes to get off to tonight."

Kurt tried stepping away, but there was a wall behind him. The girls in the picture looked no more than fifteen years old, and he was going to be sick if he had to look at them any longer. "I'm pretty sure that's illegal."

"No shit, Sherlock," the guy with the pictures said, holding them down by his sides. "Do you not like pussy or something?"

Kurt didn't say anything, and that was probably the worst mistake he made all night.

"He doesn't!" the other man responded. "This guy's a total fag!"

Kurt winced at the word, and he wished he could evaporate. Flashbacks from high school filled his mind, and his initial thought was to escape immediately.

"Yeah, dude. He probably wants pictures of _us_."

"That's sick, bro," the guy said to his friend before turning to Kurt again. "Sorry, homo. We don't sell that shit, and we definitely don't sell to nasty fucks like yourself."

Kurt tried to leave, but the men blocked his escape. He was stuck and suddenly felt claustrophobic and frightened, and he didn't know what to do.

"I don't get why faggots think they have the right to live wherever they want. Move back to San Francisco, freak."

"Or just kill yourself," the other guy added, and they both laughed.

Kurt wanted to scream, but he couldn't find the strength. He closed his eyes tightly, and the men must've taken it as an insult because Kurt instantly felt the first blow to his stomach, and he groaned in pain. He opened his eyes in just enough time to see the fist hurling at his face. Kurt knew he couldn't just stand there and take it, and he hated himself for being too drunk to fight back.

"You know if you don't want to kill yourself, we could just do it for you."

Kurt's instincts finally caught up with him as he kicked his leg out, hitting the shin of the guy in front of him. The man hissed in pain, and Kurt took the opportunity to hit in him the gut, but it was inevitably two against one. In a flash, Kurt felt his supply of oxygen get cut off as the man he hadn't injured grabbed his throat. He tried elbowing him, but the man must've been beside him instead of behind him because he ended up hitting the wall.

Coughing for breath, Kurt felt two more punches come at his face, and his nose began to bleed. He was going to suffocate before these guys could even give him a real beating, and he kneed the man beside him in the crotch, causing him to let go of his hold of his neck. Kurt took a deep breath in, and it was his last one before one of the guys kicked the back of his knee so he fell down on the ground. It was more kicks to the stomach, back, and face for Kurt, and though he tried to get back to his feet, he knew it was a lost battle.

"We _should_ just get rid of your dick altogether since you aren't using it correctly anyway."

A forceful kick to the crotch caused Kurt to moan in agony and arch his back forward. With the alcohol and overall darkness of it being past midnight, the blurriness of his vision only intensified with each kick. At the moment, he really wished he was dead; anything had to be better than the pain he was currently in. When he began to throw up, it smelled heavily of alcohol and blood, and it only intensified the nausea that Kurt felt. It was a good thing he was lying on his side, or he might've began to choke on his own vomit. All he wanted was for it to be over.

As he blacked out, the only image in his head was that of hazel eyes.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for reading and reviewing and whatnot! It means a lot to me :)

(Sigh. That smiley face seems awfully out of place juxtaposed with the ending of this chapter...)


	6. Chapter 6

_Same warnings/disclosures from Chapter 1 apply_

* * *

><p>The sunlight was what woke Kurt up. Well, technically, it must've been the anesthetic wearing off, but since Kurt wasn't yet aware that he was on any anesthetic, he blamed it on the sunlight.<p>

His first thought after opening his eyes was that someone really needed to close the blinds, and anyway, he surely didn't remember opening them, so someone else must've been in his room the night before. Oh God, he thought as he fully came to, maybe someone else was in his room at that moment. He was so drunk the night before. What had he even done?

A sharp pain shot through his leg when he tried to move.

He was definitely _not _in his room. The bright, white walls and squeaky bed were the first to give it away, but even if he hadn't noticed that, there was some tube connected to his arm, and the quiet beeping of a heart monitor told him that he was in a hospital... as one of the patients.

Memories from the night before flooded his mind, and Kurt's whole body ached just thinking about it. He'd gotten the shit beat out of him on some random street by two guys that he surely didn't know. He began to wonder how he'd even made it in the hospital in the first place. He had thought he was going to die when he blacked out.

A woman in a white coat stood beside him, noticing his eyes opening. "Good morning, Mr. Hummel. Do you know where you are?"

"I'm in the hospital," Kurt said, his voice hoarse and dry.

"Very good," the woman nodded. "My name is Doctor Marcus. Do you know how you got here?"

Kurt shook his head. "Some guys were, uh..." He didn't want to finish out of embarrassment, even though the doctor obviously knew how he'd gotten there. Still, he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.

"It's okay," Dr. Marcus said calmly, and Kurt realized he was tearing up. If he was remembering correctly, he was lucky to be alive at the moment.

"How did I, um," Kurt reached his hand up to his eyes and wiped away his new tears. "Who brought me here?" He owed his life to whoever it was.

"A young man spotted you lying unconscious on the sidewalk and immediately called an ambulance. He's here with us now if you would like to meet him."

Kurt gulped, but eventually nodded. After the doctor left the room, Kurt lay back fully and took deep breaths. He honestly couldn't believe this had happened to him. It was going to take some intense therapy for him to get over this traumatic experience, but really, he was just extremely grateful to be alive and breathing. He didn't have his watch around his wrist, but he spotted a digital clock sitting on top of the TV that read 7:30am. He'd been out for quite a long time, if his memory was right, and he wondered if someone had informed Paul or his family or, oh God, he'd been hanging out with Blaine the whole night. He probably thought Kurt had ditched him or something. So much for new friends.

Before he could think of any other problems, Doctor Marcus reentered the room, Blaine following behind. Had Blaine been the one to call the ambulance? But that made no sense, Blaine had been at the party the whole time-

"Kurt!" Blaine exclaimed, and it was plain to see that he regretted seeming so eager to see that Kurt was awake.

"You two know each other?" Dr. Marcus asked.

Blaine just nodded, biting down on his bottom lip and not taking his eyes off of Kurt.

Dr. Marcus smiled and grabbed a clipboard off the wall. "I'll be right down the hall. Press this buzzer if you need anything." As soon as she left the room, Paul busted through the door.

"Oh my God, Kurt," he began. "I just heard that you woke up."

"It was literally five seconds ago. You didn't miss anything," Kurt spoke, but couldn't stop staring at Blaine. Had this man really saved his life?

"Kurt, I," Paul shook his head, "I am so _sorry _that this happened. I feel like I could've done something to prevent it, and. And we'll find the guys that did this to you and throw their asses in jail. Don't worry, Kurt. We'll fix it. I swear we will."

Kurt finally took his eyes off of Blaine, but only for a moment to talk to Paul. "I think you're more worried than I am, Paul. But thank you for your concern."

"I just feel so terrible about this," Paul admitted. "I can't help thinking that this was partly my fault."

"It was no one's fault but mine, and I-"

"It _wasn't_ your fault," Blaine interrupted.

Kurt paused and stared in Blaine's hazel eyes. He couldn't say how he felt because he simply didn't know if there was a word for it. He found himself shaking his head. "No, you're right. It was those homophobic assholes' fault. I really did try to fight back, they just..." Again, he couldn't finish.

Blaine's eyes fell to the floor.

"It's okay," Paul sighed. "We'll just... focus on recovery and hope it doesn't take very long."

"Recovery?" Kurt asked. His body was in intense pain, but he hadn't yet equated that to how he looked. And if something was wrong with his face, it meant he couldn't work. His job relied on him appearing flawless.

"Well, Kurt," Paul began, "you were pretty badly banged up."

"How?"

"Your, um, your left ankle is fractured, and you have three cracked ribs. You're missing two molars, but that's not too bad, I guess."

Kurt moved his tongue around in his mouth and, yep, he definitely felt the empty space where teeth had once been.

"Also, Kurt," Paul said slowly, as if he was about to hurt his feelings. "Your nose is broken."

There was no way Kurt could have heard that right. Cautiously, he brought his hand up his face and placed two fingers on the top of his nose where he felt an unfamiliar bump. Pressing harder, he quickly retreated his hand in pain. Shit, shit, shit. That wasn't fair! Kurt had just recently come to terms with the fact that, yes, he'd had plastic surgery on his nose, and now, for it to go completely to waste, it made him regret it even more.

"Luckily," Paul said, but it wasn't very lucky at well, "since you've already had the rhinoplasty, it's not going to be such a hassle to fix it, but it'll take more reconstruction to get it back to how it was. It'll also put you out of work for a month..."

Kurt was totally silent. He couldn't possibly get another nose job and not hate himself forever. But if not, he might not have a job at all.

"I'll give you time to think it over-"

"Can I see?"

Paul paused, obviously not sure if that was the best idea, but Kurt really wanted to see himself and nothing would stop him.

"Yeah," Paul popped the case off his phone, and handed the phone to Kurt.

Kurt flipped the phone over to the reflective side and brought it up to his face. Along with cuts and bruises all over his skin, he had two black eyes, a swollen bottom lip, and that fucking broken nose. He couldn't help cringing at his own reflection. He was hideous, and when he couldn't stand it any longer, he handed the phone back to Paul and felt himself tearing up again. It wasn't just that his appearance was totally screwed - Kurt felt somewhere inside of him that he deserved this. How had he managed to survive the past five years on his looks alone? What a waste of a human being.

"Kurt..."

It was Blaine who had spoken that time, and Kurt looked up to him, wondering what he was still doing there anyway. If he had been the one to call the ambulance, he should've just left once they assured him that Kurt would be fine. He didn't owe Kurt anything, and staying there with him was just unnecessary.

Blaine hadn't said anything when Kurt had to look away to stop himself from crying.

"Are you hungry or thirsty or..." Paul trailed off.

Kurt shook his head. "No. Just... Can I please be alone for a little while?"

Paul nodded, and the two men shuffled out of the room, leaving Kurt to wallow in regret, self-pity, and absolute hatred for himself.

It was a knock at the door that awoke Kurt from a sleep that he hadn't realized he'd fallen into. He was still in the hospital, still hooked up to the IV, but at least he was still breathing.

Dr. Marcus stood in the doorway with a phone in her hand. "You have a phone call, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt sighed and accepted the phone and brought it to his ear. He really wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone he worked with, and if Paul had already called the plastic surgeon, he was _really _not in the mood. The person on the phone, however, was probably worse than all of the above.

"Kurt? What the hell happened, man?"

"It's nothing to worry about, Finn," Kurt said emotionless. "I'll be fine."

"It's just," Finn continued with an exasperated tone, "I don't understand why I wasn't contacted when this happened. I logged onto my email, and you were on Yahoo's front page. 'Kurt Hummel in the hospital'? I- I don't- What is going on?"

Great, Kurt breathed out. He was already news. No one had made a headline when he'd been chosen for a Prada sunglasses advertisement, but he gets beat up, and it's on .

"What exactly did the article say?" Kurt asked, ignoring his question for the time being.

"Just that you were taken, _unconscious_, to some hospital in Los Angeles for unknown reasons," Finn answered. "I already talked to your assistant, so I know what happened, but I mean, Kurt, our mom has been worried sick."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "My mom's been dead for fifteen years."

"Fine," Finn said, clearly annoyed. "_My _mom. My mom, who cares about you _a lot_ by the way, has been worried sick for the last couple hours, not knowing which hospital you were in, or if you were in even alive."

"Well, I couldn't exactly call you, Finn. I _was_ unconscious."

"Yeah, but," he huffed, "you think they'd automatically let your family know that you're in the hospital."

"And what good would it have done? Hm? You're two thousand miles away."

"I just would've liked to know."

Kurt lay back silent in his bed. Talking to Finn was always an exhausting experience, and this was no exception. Maybe he was right that the hospital should've informed him and Carole when he was admitted, but that wasn't Kurt's fault, and he didn't deserve to be yelled at for it.

"Look, dude, I'm sorry," Finn began again. "I just, we haven't been very close recently... and quite honestly, I miss talking to you, bro. And you know how I hate being the last to know these things. I was just scared; that's all."

"I know," Kurt said. "And I can assure you that there is nothing to be worried about. Can you let Carole know for me?"

"She'd like to hear it from you..."

"_Finn_."

"But yes, I'll tell her. Just... call... every once in a while, okay?"

"Sure, sure," Kurt answered, even though he knew damn well that 'every once in a while' meant a lot more often to Finn than it did to him. Every four months or so was more than enough for Kurt.

"Okay. Bye Kurt."

"Goodbye," Kurt said and set the phone down on the tray table next to his bed.

The clock on top of the TV read a quarter to eleven, and Kurt felt his stomach growl. For once in his life, he actually got to sleep off a hangover, but he didn't realize how hungry it had made him. Not knowing how else to let anyone know this, he pressed the button next to his bed that would buzz Dr. Marcus.

A minute later, she walked back into the room. "I'm guessing it wasn't the most successful talk with your brother."

"_Step_-brother," Kurt corrected her and instantly regretted it. Finn was the closest thing he had to real brother, and somewhere not so deep down, Kurt really did miss him as well. In all honesty, Finn had been the first person besides his parents to care about him and obviously still did to the day.

"Ah," Dr. Marcus nodded. "Well, is there anything else you need?"

"Breakfast would be lovely actually," Kurt answered. "Um, I'll just have anything off the low-cal menu. And a coffee. Please."

"Sure. Your visitors are still here, by the way. Should I send them in?"

Kurt sighed, but he eventually nodded. He couldn't avoid Paul forever, but when Blaine walked in behind him, he began to worry. Why was Blaine still there anyway? Was he awaiting some sort of thanks from Kurt? He deserved it, Kurt guessed, but he didn't have to wait around for 10 hours to hear it.

"Morning," Paul grinned, and his smile felt out of place and ironic to everyone in the room.

"Hey, you guys know you don't have to stay here and wait for me, right?" Kurt stated, but it was obvious that it was more so directed towards Blaine than Paul. "I'm pretty sure I can heal by myself. I mean the doctors haven't even told me how long it's gonna take let alone the process..."

"Kurt, it's my job to be here for you," Paul informed him. "As an assistant and a friend."

The attention moved to Blaine and he swallowed before answering. "I just wanna make sure you're okay. I'd feel awful if I left now."

Kurt, biting down on his lip, thought he could see a bit of guilt in Blaine's eyes. Could Blaine think that this was _his_ fault? It didn't make sense. Blaine had been the one to save him. Right?

"Well, how long do I have to stay here for anyway?" Kurt asked, trying to avoid any awkward silences.

"You're allowed to leave 24 hours after you checked in, so approximately 2 am," Paul explained. "But you wouldn't mind staying until morning, right? I just don't know if I can come pick you up in the middle of the night..."

Kurt closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. 24 hours was long enough, but if he really had to stay a couple more hours, it wouldn't be so bad. He was about to say so when Blaine spoke up.

"I could drive you home if you like," he offered, surprising both the other men in the room. Paul tried to decline, but Blaine insisted. "No, I want to. We're friends now, right?"

It was sort of impossible for Kurt to describe how he was feeling. But the anger and pain from the night before mixed with the sadness and resentment that came with his freshly broken nose he could handle. It was the pounding of his heart and fluttering in his stomach that he wished would go away. He looked up in Blaine's hazel eyes and wanted to never look away. Gulping, he found the power to nod. "Yeah," he managed. "Yeah, that would be nice of you."

So Blaine was going to stay with him all day and half of the night so he could drive him home a couple hours sooner than he would've been able to. And Kurt _wasn't_ paying him for this. He was just doing it because... because he wanted to?

"Then it's settled," Paul nodded. "Blaine will take you home when you're released. Meanwhile, I'm gonna go home and finally get some rest. I'll be back around six to check up and do some paperwork. Heal fast, bud."

"I'll see you later, Paul," Kurt said and let out a sigh. It was going to be a very long and very boring day.

Then it was just Blaine and Kurt in the room, and Kurt had so many questions to ask him, but didn't know where to start.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" Blaine motioned to a chair in the corner of the room.

"No, go right ahead," Kurt shrugged.

"I'm a little tired," Blaine yawned, and it was obvious that he was way more than a little tired. "I haven't been able to sleep very well yet." Kurt wondered if he'd slept at all.

His food was then brought in by a nurse and set on the tray table next to his bed, which he pressed a button to bring up to a sitting position. As he began to eat the less than delicious food, he noticed Blaine dozing off in the corner. And by the time he'd finished eating/shuffling some food around with his fork, Kurt was watching Blaine sleep. He didn't even realize he was smiling until he caught a glimpse of his reflection in his spoon.

About two _Project Runway_ reruns later, Kurt turned off the TV and did his best to roll onto his side. It was hard to do, being connected to the heart monitor and all, but he managed.

Blaine looked so peaceful as he slept, and Kurt let himself smile over it. The gel in Blaine's hair had almost completely gone, and his curls fell loosely over his face and ears; long eyelashes rested on the base of his cheeks. A quiet whistle escaped his nose with each rise and fall of his chest, and even though he was clearly not breathing from his mouth, his soft, pink lips were ever-so-slightly parted in the middle. His arms and hands draped over the side of the chair, and he seemed so pleasantly uncomfortable. Kurt couldn't decide what he preferred: being able to see his open, hazel eyes or noticing every other aspect as he slept, eyes shut. Blaine was, despite Kurt's ultimate hatred of the word, extremely beautiful.

Kurt drifted slowly back to sleep.

When Paul returned to the hospital at six pm, he and Kurt talked quietly as not to wake up Blaine about the night before, and Kurt got quickly frustrated because no, he could not remember the faces of the two guys that beat him up. He'd been drunk and it had been very dark out and trying to remember what they looked like wasn't top on his list of priorities when he was getting the shit beat out of him. Meanwhile, Paul got frustrated because "one was black and one was white" probably wasn't the best description that Kurt could give, and he just really wasn't helping him solve the crime. Overall, it was very stressful as both of them tried their best to avoid the elephant in the room: what was Kurt going to do about his nose?

At a little after nine, Blaine woke up, and Paul decided he needed to go home. They obviously weren't getting anywhere, and it would've been pointless to try and discuss it any further, especially when Blaine was sitting there.

Kurt ordered some dinner, and Blaine went down to the cafeteria to get some for himself. When he returned, they sat and watched television in silence. After a couple hours, it was obvious there were both becoming restless.

"Shit, I wish I could get out of this bed," Kurt spoke up.

Blaine looked over at him intently with raised eyebrows. "Do you want me to get the doctor for you?"

"No," Kurt shook his head. As endearing as Blaine was trying to come off, Kurt didn't want him to worry about him so much. "You don't have to take care of me, Blaine. I'm just bored is all."

Blaine relaxed back in his chair a little. "America's Funniest Home Videos not entertaining enough for you?"

Kurt rolled his eyes up sarcastically. "How many times can you watch a kid swing their piñata stick and hit their dad's balls and still laugh? It gets rather predictable."

Blaine smiled, and Kurt wished he was closer. He'd moved his chair over near Kurt's bed so he could get a better view of the television, but was still at a friendly distance. And Kurt had to remind himself that that made sense because he was a friend. He admittedly wasn't used to it just yet because Kurt _was_ lacking in the friend department, and most of the guys he knew did want to be as close to him as possible. So Kurt turned off the TV with the remote, and Blaine turned to him.

"20 Questions," Kurt offered.

"Huh?"

"The game," he explained. "You know. We each take turns asking each other questions... 20 of them... 20 Questions."

"And... you wanna play?"

Biting his lip, Kurt shrugged. He was feeling quite better after Dr. Marcus had given him some more Ibuprofen, and he had eaten dinner. Since flirting was his second nature (being a complete bitch was probably his first nature, but he was pretty much past that stage with Blaine), he decided he still had a couple hours left, so why not make them count?

"Um..." Blaine scrunched up his eyebrows, but there was an evident smile underneath. "Okay... You go first."

"Okay," Kurt nodded and thought about it for a moment. He knew what he really wanted to ask, but he would start light. "What's your favorite song?"

Blaine looked at him like that was the dumbest question he'd ever heard. "Really? My favorite song?"

Kurt just nodded.

"Okay..." Blaine breathed out. "Um, it changes all the time, but I guess at the moment... The One That Got Away. From Katy Perry."

"Really?" Kurt mocked him. "Katy Perry? That's so cliche."

Blaine dropped his jaw, pretending to be hurt. "Fine then! What's _your_ favorite song?"

"Hmm," Kurt pondered. "Okay, I don't know if you know it or not, but it's called The Guilty Ones. From_ Spring Awakening_."

"Oh, of course I know that song! I love it!" Blaine exclaimed and then huffed at the irony. "Like that's any less cliche though."

"You're right," Kurt shrugged his shoulders. "Next question. Um..."

"Wait," Blaine stopped him. "It's my turn."

"No," Kurt shook his head. "You asked me what my favorite song was. Remember?"

Blaine narrowed his eyes for a moment, and Kurt just grinned. "Fine."

Kurt glanced around the room as he thought of his next question. It wasn't quite time to ask Blaine about the previous night, but he surely couldn't continue on with pointless questions, especially now that Blaine was more aware of the rules of the game. The question he settled with, he didn't realize he was curious until the words were out of his mouth. "What age did you come out?"

Blaine looked down at his lap and then back up. "Thirteen. Right before high school."

Fair enough, Kurt nodded. It had been younger than when Kurt had done it, but everyone had known already, so coming out of the closet wasn't really the hard part for him. It had been what happened as a result of it.

"Who was your first kiss?" Blaine asked.

"Brittany Pierce," Kurt smirked. He was throwing Blaine off without even trying.

"_Brittany_?"

"I went through a butch phase, believe it or not."

"Butch doesn't mean straight," Blaine said jokingly.

"Yeah, well, I realized I'm not either _after_ the fact," Kurt began. "She kept asking me to kiss her armpits. It was all very strange."

Blaine laughed out. "And how old were you when this happened?"

"Not your turn," Kurt reminded him with a grin. "Let's see... Did you have a crush on me before you met me?"

Blaine cheeks quickly pinked and he swallowed before shaking his head, no. "Um, maybe a little? I, um, I honestly just thought you were incredibly good-looking."

It figured, Kurt decided. At least he was doing his job right.

I never really paid attention to models until college," Blaine continued, trying to explain himself. "And then, um, there were a lot of upcoming fashion designers on campus, so I got used to seeing models around, and then I guess I started paying a little bit more attention..."

"It's okay, Blaine," Kurt nodded. "The game is 20 Questions not 20 Opportunities to Explain Yourself. Sometimes just a Yes or No will suffice."

And then it was obvious that Blaine could see the nature of the game as he began to get a little more personal as well. "Last week, at Busby's, did you mean what you said outside?"

Kurt took a deep breath in and out. Of course he'd meant it or else he wouldn't have bothered. He may have exaggerated a bit, but it was simply because of the heat of the moment, and he'd be damned if it wasn't the most honest and vulnerable he'd been for a very long time. Blaine waited for an answer, and Kurt decided to take his own advice and respond with a simple, "Yes."

Blaine let out a breath, and holy shit, his eyes were stunning. Through the terrible, fluorescent lighting of the hospital, the hazel and green and brown and gold swirls shone through. Kurt was almost blushing when he remembered it was his turn.

Okay, he told himself, he was done screwing around. He needed to know pronto. "How... how did you find me last night? I mean, I'm pretty sure you saved my life."

Blaine's breath visibly hitched for a moment, and it was plain to see that he hadn't heard it worded like that yet. And really, it should've been an easy answer, but something was obviously wrong. Blaine looked scared or maybe even a little bit queasy.

"Oh," Blaine began. "Well, I guess I was just waiting for you to get back from the bathroom, and I was thinking about how awful I felt about what you told me, and then I realized it was taking you a while, so I went and checked the bathroom, and you weren't there. And I don't know, I guess I just sort of figured the next place you'd go would be outside for some reason, so I went out. I don't even remember why I did, to be honest. I wasn't worried or anything, I just wanted to say sorry probably. I know you told me not to, but..."

Kurt could see how hurt Blaine was about all of this, and he almost wanted to just tell him to stop and not worry about it because everything was fine now. But he guessed the story was already half over, so he let him continue.

"Anyway," Blaine continued shakily, "I asked this girl sitting on the porch if she'd seen you, and she pointed down the sidewalk. I almost didn't believe her because she was so drunk, but I started walking anyway, and when I saw you, Kurt, you were lying face down on the road in blood and throw up, and I just didn't know what to do. I called 911 and just began puking. I know we don't know each other very well, and don't take this the wrong way, but I was_ so scared_." Blaine's voice cracked, and he was clearly on the verge of tears.

Suddenly, Kurt imagined how hard that must've been. If he'd seen anyone, let alone someone he knew, unconscious on the side of the road, he probably would've fainted or passed out, not being able to help anyone.

"It's okay," he assured Blaine, not wanting to see him cry. "I'm okay now."

"I know," Blaine managed, his first tear falling. "I just, I can't help feeling like it was partly my fault. If I hadn't brought up the thing about your dad, and I just let you leave." He brought a hand up to cover his eyes and wept quietly, the sniffling of his nose the only indication that he was actually crying.

Kurt felt absolutely terrible. Of course it hadn't been Blaine's fault! Blaine had saved his _life _for crying out loud. It had been the opposite of his fault. "Blaine, it had _nothing_ to do with you. I _swear_. Those fucking... assholes had nothing better to do than mess with me because they don't understand me. It's... fine." It definitely wasn't fine, but he didn't know what else to say.

"Kurt," Blaine started, wiping the wetness off his eyes and cheeks. "Can we, um, can we finish the game later?"

It took Kurt a moment, but then he saw Blaine laughing, and he began laughing too. "Yes," he nodded. "We can finish later."

So for the next two hours, they just sat in each other's company and talked, mostly about small things like living in LA and their favorite restaurants and how amazing the show _Wicked_ was. And Kurt talked about high school and how it'd been really tough for him, but he'd always had glee club to cheer him up. And oh, Blaine was from Ohio too, and he'd also been in a glee club, and that really sucked that they'd never competed against each other, but as much as Blaine liked hearing Kurt talk about high school, he didn't get into much detail about his own experience. He did go on about college a bit and how it'd been where he'd really found himself, but they both agreed it would've been fun to major in music or performing. Kurt even brought up Rachel and how she had made it onto Broadway, and they were both insanely jealous of her because what glee kid _didn_'_t _want to make it on Broadway. Afterward, they both insisted that they were happy where they were now however, even though Kurt knew it was a little bit of a lie for himself and could see a hint of resentment in Blaine's eyes. Kurt didn't ask why Blaine went for interior design instead of performing, but he figured Blaine would've brought it up if he'd wanted to talk about it.

At one in the morning, Dr. Marcus came in to put the boot on Kurt's foot that had the fractured ankle and talk to him about caring for it as well as his cracked ribs. Most of his injuries couldn't be fixed with surgeries, so he was just prescribed medicine that would take away or lessen the pain and was told to refrain from situations that may put him in danger, including heavy work outs and many sexual activities (Kurt blushed at that because Blaine was in the room, and he was pretty sure that he knew about Kurt's track record with sex).

Then, finally, he was allowed to go home.

* * *

><p>AN: Hope you guys liked the chapter! Thanks for reading of course!


	7. Chapter 7

_Same warnings/disclosures from Chapter 1 apply._

* * *

><p><em>"Now and then, I get insecure<br>From all the pain; I'm so ashamed." _

* * *

><p>The car ride with Blaine started nearly silent because they'd just discussed everything they seemed to be comfortable with sharing at this state in their friendship, but Kurt eventually broke the quiet.<p>

"Well, I sure as hell am not going to be getting my ass kicked again any time soon. That was the longest hospital stay of my life."

Blaine half smiled, but it was clearly out of politeness.

"The last couple hours were bearable though," Kurt continued. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"Any time," Blaine nodded.

So either Blaine was suddenly randomly exhausted, despite him sleeping all day, or he simply didn't feel like talking to Kurt. Either way, Kurt decided it was useless to keep up a one-sided conversation, and he rested his head against the window.

Blaine didn't speak up for close to ten minutes. "Kurt, can I tell you something?"

"Is that your next question?" Kurt turned to him.

"Um... what?"

"I believe you're on number four... 20 Questions."

"Oh," Blaine nodded, "Uh, sure. Yeah."

"Go on," Kurt said, remembering the last time they were in a car on the way to his house when Blaine had decided to tell him something. He promised himself he wouldn't act out the same way he'd done the time before, no matter what it was.

Blaine took a deep breath, keeping his eyes on the dark road ahead. "When I was fourteen, I went on a date - it wasn't even a date; it was a stupid Sadie Hawkins Dance. I didn't even know schools still had those - and I had a good time, I guess. I mean, I'd never been on a date before, let alone with another boy at a school function, and I was _so stupid_ thinking I could get away with that. Sometimes, I just forget that other people don't have the same views as me, and I get really brave when I probably shouldn't be, and I end up... screwing everything up. And the guy I was with wanted to leave early, but I insisted we stay, and we slow-danced and went outside when it was over. Kurt, I- I just _forget_ that I can't _do_ stuff like that. And these three big guys started pushing us around and then they were knocking us over and punching us and kicking us. And I woke up in the hospital."

Kurt was shocked silent. Going through what he'd been through the night before had been the hardest moment of his entire life, but he was 23 and could understand why it had happened. He couldn't fathom being 14 and having just come out and not getting why people thought it was wrong to be gay. Suddenly, so much about Blaine made sense: why'd he'd stayed at the hospital with Kurt, why he didn't want to talk about high school, why he wouldn't let Kurt blame himself for what had happened.

"For the longest time, I hated myself," Blaine continued. "If it weren't for me, we would've left early and avoided the bullies, and this guy who I hardly even knew wouldn't have ended up in a coma for three days. And I _hated_ being gay. I wished I could be straight. I wished I could just fucking be like everyone else."

Kurt didn't realize he was crying until the tear reached his lips, and he tasted the salt.

"Then I transferred schools, and it took a while, but I began to accept myself again. And seeing you like that last night brought back every single emotion I'd had bottled up for years, and Kurt, I just want to make sure you know it was _not_ your fault. Don't ever, _ever_ blame yourself for that. You'll just end up hating yourself."

But Kurt already hated himself. Cracked ribs, fractured ankle, missing teeth, and his fucking broken nose aside, Kurt despised himself for who he was. Getting beat up hadn't changed it in the least.

"Kurt?"

"I'm sorry, Blaine," he responded. "I'm _so _sorry that had to happen to you. I wish it hadn't."

Blaine swallowed, glancing at Kurt and then back at the road. "Me too."

Kurt felt like dying. What a shitty world they lived in! People could get beaten up for loving a certain gender, and the people who beat them up could get away with it. It didn't make any sense at all. When Kurt saw his neighborhood getting closer, he didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay in Blaine's car with him and keep driving forever until there was no where left to drive, and then they could just die like that: secluded from the jerks and assholes of the world who hated simply because they could.

"It's my turn, right?" Kurt asked. "I'm on question five."

Blaine bit his lip and nodded, pulling into Kurt's driveway.

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

Blaine's eyebrows raised significantly, and his eyes moved around Kurt's face, searching for emotion that would suggest he was joking. But Kurt wasn't joking, and Blaine eventually nodded. He turned off the car, and they both got out, walking in silence to the front of the house where Kurt unlocked the door. They went in, slipped off their shoes, and headed up to Kurt's bedroom without a word, and neither of them changed their clothes or washed their face. They just climbed in under the covers on Kurt's bed, Kurt lying on his side and Blaine holding on to him from behind, and despite having slept most of the day, they somehow fell asleep.

The alarm clock next to Kurt's bed went off at nine am like a rooster greeting the dawn, same time every single day, except on special occasions when he had to wake up even earlier of course. Kurt slapped his arm over the sleep button to turn it off and climbed out of the sheets.

Blaine lay on his stomach, face buried in the pillow, undisturbed from the alarm.

Kurt decided to let him sleep, and he went downstairs to his kitchen for some coffee. As he waited for it to heat up in the microwave, he saw through the small corridor to his living room the marble sculpture of himself collecting dust in the corner. He'd gotten it as a 21st birthday present from his agency and had absolutely adored it then, but as time went on, he began to see how pointless and narcissistic it was. Not knowing of anyone else that would want, he just let it sit there and stare at him whenever he was in the room, almost mocking the fact that he was aging.

The microwave beeped, and Kurt reached in to grab his coffee, but it was still lukewarm. He put it back in for another minute and realized he needed to use the bathroom and when he was done, he looked into the mirror and nearly frightened himself. His cheeks were puffy and his lip was still swollen and the bruises on his eyes had only darkened, making him appear 15 pounds and 15 years more than he was. There was no way he'd have any jobs for months. Then again, there was the chance he wouldn't have any jobs ever again if he didn't fix his nose. He'd be subject to hand modeling, and for males that industry wasn't exactly booming, nor would it give him the recognition he so desperately craved.

Kurt was livid by the time he got back to the kitchen. He had such a young face and promise of at _least_ ten more years in the business, but because of one night, it had all gone to shit.

He'd been considering the nose job since he found out he would need one, and honestly, he hated himself enough already that it could possibly not even affect him. But just the thought of altering his face for vanity _again_ made him sick to his stomach. He didn't believe in God, so it wasn't like he was worried about messing up "the face God gave him," but it had been the face his parents had given him. What would his father think if he'd known about the first surgery after so many years of telling Kurt, "You have your mother's eyes, ears, and nose"?

Kurt couldn't possibly know what he was doing as he stomped into the foyer, dug through the coat closest to the back where he kept a baseball bat for safety in case of intruders, and made his way into the living room.

He hadn't even been aiming at anything when he took the first swing and the bat collided with his sculpture.

The metal bounced off the marble, creating a less than noticeable dent as the bat vibrated in Kurt's grasp. He took a second swing, aiming for the nose this time and doubling the amount of effort he'd put in.

"I don't look like this!" Kurt shouted, hitting its face and neck and any other part he could get to with the baseball bat. "It's not fucking fair! I'm so. Fucking. Ugly!"

The first thing to shatter was the nose, and this only angered Kurt more. He yelled at the top of his lungs as he swung, and hot tears fell from his eyes. All he wanted was for the stupid thing to just fall to a million pieces so he could stomp on them or flush them down the toilet or set them on fire.

"I hate you!" he cried, not even sure who he was yelling at. "I hate you! I hate you! So much, I hate you. I just wish you would fucking die!"

Cracks formed evenly across the marble, and if he'd continued for maybe five more minutes, it would've been bits and pieces, but he didn't have the opportunity.

"What the-"

"I hate you!"

"Kurt-"

"It's not fair!"

"_Kurt_!"

He turned around and saw Blaine with the most scared expression he'd ever seen on his face standing in the doorway. He'd completely forgotten that Blaine had been upstairs during his sudden rage, and he felt terrible because he must've woken him up.

"Kurt, what is going on?"

White knuckles held tightly onto the bat, but Kurt found it impossible to move a muscle. All he could do was just cry. He hated himself and how ugly he was now and how he would have to change himself to work again.

Blaine hesitated, but slowly walked over to Kurt, taking a hold of the bat and setting it on the floor next to them. "It's okay..."

"It's not okay," Kurt shook his head in-between sobs. "Tell me it's not okay. I just, I need to know the truth."

"The _truth_," Blaine started calmly, "is that even if it's not okay now, it will be. It _will be_ okay."

"When?" Kurt demanded desperately.

Blaine watched him for a moment before shaking his head. "I don't know when. I just know it will be."

"I'm just so fucking sick of it," Kurt sniffled and new tears formed in his eyes. He knew Blaine didn't know what 'it' was, but he didn't want to have to explain everything; he just wanted someone to be there. And there Blaine was. And Kurt could do nothing but put his hands over his eyes and collapse into Blaine's shoulder. Within milliseconds, he felt arms wrap around him, and he stood there and wept and was held for what felt like forever, and as he stained Blaine's shirt with his tears, he began to think that maybe a friend was all he needed for the longest time.

When Kurt eventually pulled away and looked into those hazel eyes, he felt almost magically better, if only slightly. He did feel bad about putting Blaine through that though. "Blaine, I'm-"

"Don't... worry about it," Blaine interrupted him, wiping tears from under Kurt's eyes. "You just- you go take a shower. I'll make us breakfast. Is that okay?"

Kurt nodded, and all he could think about was how he didn't deserve a friend as nice and caring as Blaine. What had Kurt done for _him _in this friendship? If anything, he'd only made his life harder and more miserable in the short time that they'd known each other. He left the room and went up to his bathroom to take a shower.

* * *

><p>The first person to call Kurt beautiful, aside from his parents, had been a high school friend, Mercedes Jones. They had been getting dressed and ready for their junior prom where they'd be going together, just as friends of course, and Kurt caught a glimpse of her spraying some perfume on her neck. He turned away from the mirror where he'd been fixing his eyebrows and smiled.<p>

"You look stunning, Cedes," he said honestly, because in her fuchsia gown with her long, curly hair and right touch of makeup, she was glowing.

She grinned shyly and looked down at herself before back up to him. "You think so?"

Kurt nodded. "Quinn just sent out a mass text with a picture of her in her dress that said 'Vote Fabray,' and I can tell you right now, you'd be winning that crown if you were running for Prom Queen."

Mercedes laughed and grabbed her phone off Kurt's bed to check for the message herself. "What's gonna happen if she doesn't win?"

"I have this theory," Kurt began, "that her whole face will turn beet red and smoke will start coming out of her ears to the point where Principal Figgins will feel the only way to save us from a school bombing is to give her the title despite the winner. Although, can I tell you a secret?"

Mercedes nodded eagerly.

"I'm voting for Santana."

"Me too!" she exclaimed, and they both laughed as if they'd gotten away with something illegal. When they stopped, she looked at him with a soft smile. "You're a beautiful person, Kurt."

He placed a hand over his heart dramatically, but the smirk on his face was genuine, and he pulled her into a hug. At the age of seventeen, there wasn't much he thought about the word beautiful, let alone if it was referring to his face or his personality. He just knew it was an incredibly sweet thing of her to say.

At twenty-three, he realized it had taken him close to six years to ruin his personality and only one night to ruin his face. Now there wasn't an ounce of beautiful left in him.

* * *

><p>When he walked downstairs and back into the kitchen, he smelled whatever delicious thing Blaine was cooking and watched him do so from the doorway. There was something so peaceful about a man he didn't have to pay to be there cooking for him, and there was something so mysteriously attractive about Blaine, but Kurt couldn't figure it out. To be honest, he wasn't sure if he wanted to.<p>

"Ahem," Kurt coughed to make his presence known.

Blaine flipped his head around and shot his eyebrows up. "Oh. You're out already. Um, give me like three minutes for this to finish up..."

"Of course," Kurt made his way into the kitchen and towards the refrigerator. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Uhh, no thanks. I'll just have like orange juice or something."

"That's what I _meant_, Blaine," Kurt responded, and he didn't know why he was smiling, but he could hardly stop. "Did you really think I was going for champagne at ten in the morning?"

"Oh," Blaine chuckled. "I wouldn't put it past you."

Kurt bit his lip and walked over to where Blaine was cooking eggs, sausage, bacon, and hash browns, and he reached up to the cabinet above them to get two glasses that he sat on the counter and poured orange juice in. The whole time, all he could think was, "Don't fuck anything up," because he felt he had made a habit of doing just that.

And as he put the juice away and pulled plates and silverware out, he imagined how domestic they probably looked, except oh yeah, their relationship was totally platonic, and Kurt totally didn't want anything in his life to be domestic, like, ever. And besides, Blaine was still in his clothes from the day before (and ultimately the party), and if that didn't scream One Night Stand, then Kurt didn't know what would. Except it wasn't. Because they hadn't hooked up. They'd just sort of, like, cuddled.

Trying to stop from confusing himself any further, Kurt decided to speak up. "So did that classy restaurant you worked at teach you how to cook too?"

"Huh?" Blaine asked, putting some eggs on each plate. "Oh, I forgot I told you about that. I'm surprised you remember."

Kurt grinned inwardly because ha! He had totally remembered.

"But no," Blaine shook his head. "This I just picked up from living in a co-ed residence hall in college. Girls are a lot more useful than you'd imagine."

Kurt sat down in a bar chair at the island and looked at Blaine with a raised eyebrow.

"It surprised me too," Blaine admitted jokingly, placing one full plate down in front of Kurt and the other in front of the stool he climbed up on. "Forgive me; I had to improvise a little with the hash browns since I couldn't find any salt..."

"Don't own salt," Kurt shook his head, and Blaine looked at him like he had to be kidding. "And actually, I'm shocked you even found the meat. Olive must've hidden it in way back in the freezer."

"It was pretty far back there," Blaine nodded, grabbing a fork to begin eating.

The food was very good, and Kurt didn't even feel too bad about indulging himself a little. He'd have time to work it off before his injuries healed anyway, even if he wasn't supposed to be doing any rigorous exercising. Pilates would be fine, he decided. There had been no direct rules against pilates.

"This is really good, Blaine!" Kurt beamed, still digging into the bacon because _damn_, he could not remember the last time he had bacon. "You should be a chef or something."

"Thanks," Blaine laughed. "Unfortunately, my knowledge in cooking doesn't much extend beyond what you're eating now. It was fun to make though; your kitchen is fantastic."

"So I've heard," Kurt smirked. "You really like interior design, don't you?"

"Yeah," Blaine nodded, but it wasn't very enthusiastic in the least. "I mean, I'm sure there were some crazy pipe dreams I had that didn't involve design, but even as a teenager, my room was the nicest in my parents' house. It made the most sense, and I do enjoy it quite a bit. Do you really like modeling?"

Kurt hadn't expected that, and he took a long chug of juice to wash down his food. "Doesn't matter much anymore now, does it? Unless I get that nose job, I'm royally screwed in that department."

"Will you?"

Blaine looked worried almost, and it simply made Kurt feel awful. But why would Blaine care if he got a nose job anyway? It would probably make it easier to be seen in public with him, if anything, so it made no sense for him to be worried. Kurt took another bite of his eggs and shrugged casually. "I guess."

Blaine glanced down at his food and finished eating, and Kurt wanted to hit him for being so selfish. He wasn't allowed to seem so upset over some plastic surgery. He didn't even knew the whole story, or any of it really, besides what he'd heard Paul say the previous day in the hospital. It was't his fucking business anyway. He ate his food hastily and downed the rest of his orange juice. When Blaine went to collect his plate, he stopped him.

"I got it," he grabbed Blaine's dishes as well as his own and walked them over to the sink where he let the hot water run over them.

"I should probably get going," Blaine stood up.

Kurt didn't look away from the sink. There was so much he wanted to tell Blaine, so much he needed to thank him for, but he couldn't find the strength.

"Are you gonna be okay?"

"Mhm," Kurt made eye contact with Blaine once more before watching him walk out of the kitchen. As soon as he heard the front door open and close again, he shut the faucet off. He didn't know how to wash dishes.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading and reviewing!


	8. Chapter 8

_Same warnings/disclosures from Chapter 1 apply_

* * *

><p>On Tuesday morning, Kurt realized he was incredibly bored. He'd taken a shower, gotten dressed in fairly nice clothes, and put on the medicine to make sure the cuts on his face didn't scar, along with concealer to cover his slowly healing bruises, but now he had nothing to do.<p>

Sunday, he'd spent with Paul, going over Kurt's new and improved skin care routine and scheduling appointments with top notch physical therapists that wouldn't interfere with his job. They tried to further discuss how they would track down the men who had attacked Kurt, but Kurt was honestly just so fed up with the whole thing and didn't want to talk about it anymore. And when the topic of a nose job came up, Kurt skirted past it by claiming he was just going to wait a while to see if it might heal itself, but both Paul and himself secretly knew that wasn't going to work. Monday, he went to his first physical therapy session and stood by as Paul made appropriate phone calls to the people in his agency to tell them about what had happened, accepting 'Get Well Soon's from just about every person.

But when Tuesday rolled around, Kurt had a completely free schedule, and he might've just taken the day for himself if he didn't have a little bug in the back of his mind telling him to talk to Blaine. He hadn't since Sunday morning, and he was beginning to feel that sort of guilty itch that only ever happened for Blaine.

Sitting with his legs crossed on his bed, he picked up his phone, scrolled through his contacts, clicked on Blaayne, and put the phone to his ear when it began to ring.

"Hello," Blaine's voice came from the other end, muffled a bit and probably on a bluetooth.

"Hey," Kurt said, as nonchalant as possible. "What's up?"

"Um, just headed to Starbucks for some coffee."

"Oh, gross," Kurt stuck out his tongue, even though he knew Blaine couldn't see.

"Gross? But I thought celebrities lived for Starbucks_._"

"One; I'm hardly a celebrity. And two; do you know how much Splenda they put into their supposedly non-fat drinks? That's worse for you than _real_ sugar." And then Kurt had the best idea ever. "No, you know what?" he began. "Take a left on 4th street and go to this little place called Urth Cafe. The coffee is practically to die for, and they are totally organic. I'll meet you there in say, fifteen minutes."

"Okay... Wait, what?"

"Eh, I was headed out anyway." And that was a lie that Blaine would never need to find out about.

"Uhh..."

"Oh, no," Kurt deadpanned. "You're not one of those name brand douche bags that only drinks Starbucks because you think it's made from holy water or something, are you?"

Blaine laughed out. "Kurt, I don't think I could afford to be a 'name brand douche bag' as you so lovingly put it."

"So Urth Cafe sounds good then?" Kurt asked, biting his lip in anticipation.

"Yeah,_"_ Blaine answered, and Kurt could practically _hear_ him smiling. "See you there."

Kurt then hung up his phone, grabbed his wallet and keys and made his way out to his car. Driving with the boot on his left foot hopefully wouldn't be too hard, and he got in and drove off.

About halfway there, Kurt realized that for the first time in what felt like a very long time, he was happy just because he could be happy. He could easily recall being drunk happy and momentarily happy for something that happened, but this time, he was literally _just_ happy. And why wouldn't he be? He was getting coffee with a friend in the city on a Tuesday morning. He didn't know what they would talk about or what he would order or what they would do after they drank, and although hardly a thrill to any other person, he was getting a great kick out it. He tried to convince himself that he would've been as excited to see any one of his friends, but he definitely knew that a large deal of his... giddiness came from the fact that it was Blaine he was meeting. If they were dating, this totally would've been a date.

When Kurt got to the cafe and went inside, he spotted Blaine already sitting down on one of the sofas in the corner. As Kurt approached him, he began to wonder why Blaine had chosen a sofa in the first place - they required the two people to sit reasonably close and was mostly just used by couples. Not that he minded all that much. He decided he was being silly; maybe Blaine just liked couches.

Blaine spotted Kurt coming towards him and stood up, holding a drink in his hand. "I guess I was a lot closer than you thought. I got myself something already, and you were right. It's rather excellent."

Kurt smirked, but he was actually a little upset that now he would have to stand in line by himself, and then by the time he got his coffee, Blaine would've been nearly finished with his, and then he'd probably have to run, and they wouldn't even get time to talk...

However, all he said was, "Told you! What'd you get?"

"Pumpkin cappuccino with caramel," Blaine answered.

Kurt nodded because that really did sound good. But then he felt like maybe he was making things awkward by just standing there. Should he sit down on the sofa? Was he supposed to hug Blaine first? Was it normal for two people who had almost had sex and then kissed in a pub parking lot before deciding to just be friends who sort of spooned all night to hug? Kurt guessed maybe not too many people went through that situation. "Sounds great..."

"Do you want to try?" Blaine asked, offering his cup to Kurt.

Not knowing what else to do, Kurt took the cup from Blaine and placed it to his lips.

"Careful; it's hot," Blaine warned him.

After Kurt took a sip, he handed the cup back to Blaine and grinned approvingly. "Very good, actually. I might have to get one of those myself."

"I figured you might say that," Blaine smirked and leaned over the barrier that separated the cafe from the ordering queue. "Robbie!"

A man with dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses popped his head out from behind the barista's station with raised eyebrows, nodding happily when Blaine pointed to his cup and asked for "the second one."

"Wait... how do you...?" Kurt raised an eyebrow, confused as he could be. "Don't tell me you're a frequenter of Urth Cafe..."

Blaine shrugged and miserably failed at concealing a smile. "_Maybe_ one of my best friends is a barista here."

"I'm impressed," Kurt said honestly. "You know your Los Angeles coffee shops."

"I know my _coffee_," Blaine corrected him. "Some people in high school used to call me Folgers."

"Some people in high school used to call me Sweet Porcelain," Kurt said as a joke, even though it was far from being one. "Mostly just the cheerleading coach though."

"_What_?" Blaine said, clearly confused.

Kurt didn't have time to explain because Robbie called out Blaine's name, and Blaine offered to go get his coffee for him. Kurt took a seat on the sofa, crossing his legs out of habit, and accepting his drink with a "Thank you" when Blaine got back.

Blaine sat down next to him on the couch, and it was a lot roomier than Kurt imagined, and he was both grateful and disappointed.

"So," Kurt began, "it's Tuesday at 10:30 in the morning. Shouldn't you be at work or something?"

"I work mostly from home."

"Really?"

"Um," Blaine shook his head, laughing. "No. I don't know why I said that. It just sounded cool."

Kurt chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. Blaine was so incredibly and shamelessly flirting with him, and Kurt found it incredibly and shamelessly adorable. This was already way more fun than hanging out his house alone all day.

"Actually," Blaine continued, "I just got a new client, and this week and next are going to be constant drawing and re-drawing and planning and plotting and... yeah."

"Sounds... fun?"

"I mean, yeah, it's fun. Just stressful and tiring. Hence the caffeine," Blaine smirked, slightly raising his cup up.

"All thanks to _Robbie_," Kurt teased, and Blaine laughed out.

"I was literally so surprised when you suggested this place," Blaine retorted. "I mean, out of all the cafes in Los Angeles... And there has to be thousands of those. What is it with California folk and their coffee anyway?"

"You tell me, Folgers."

"Touche," Blaine nodded, taking a sip and looking down.

Kurt took the pause in their conversation to notice things about Blaine that he, at all costs, tried to avoid noticing about people in general. It wasn't something he could very well control, but he'd done a good job of training himself not to see eye color or fingernails or shoe brand. It was always much easier to forget people if he simply didn't pick up on any of their traits, and since people made a habit of not sticking around, he'd decided to let pointless habits die. But for some reason, maybe simply because Kurt truly wanted it, he felt that Blaine was one of those few people that _would_ be sticking around. This way, noticing his vividly hazel eyes, and picked at, but not chewed, fingernails, and standard Stacy Adams, black dress shoes seemed dignified.

Kurt let his stare linger over Blaine thoroughly because it felt like there was just so much he had to notice about him. His dark, curly hair was gelled back as usual; his navy denim jeans clung tightly to his thighs as he crossed his legs; the maroon button-down's sleeves were pushed up rather messily to just before Blaine's elbows. Overall, he looked rather, well, normal.

"What about you?" Blaine broke the silence, and Kurt quickly moved his gaze to meet Blaine's eyes. "Why are _you_ getting coffee at 10:30 on a Tuesday morning?"

Kurt shrugged passively, and didn't really think about it when he answered, "Because you are."

Blaine thought about it though; it was plain to see on his face: eyes wide and mouth parted ever so slightly in the middle. Kurt quickly wanted the moment to be over.

"I realized," Kurt did his best to change the subject, looking down at his cappuccino for a second, "that we really haven't yet made a dent in our game of 20 Questions. But the problem is I can't really continue with that yet because I'm quite certain it's _your_ turn to ask." When he looked back up at Blaine, the look of surprise on his face had vanished, and he was laughing to himself.

"Oh, um... Okay," Blaine said, preparing a question to ask. "Who is your... idol? Who do you look up to, so to speak?"

"Hmm," Kurt thought. It'd most likely been since middle school since someone had asked him that question, so he was definitely thinking on his feet. No one in particular came straight to his mind, and he knew the standard answer was like Martin Luther King Jr. or his parents, but they were all dead, so Kurt didn't think they really qualified. "Does Lady Gaga count?"

"Of course!"

"Then her," Kurt nodded, but was still trying to think of someone better. It was sort of frustrating him that there was literally no one he had to look up to because it wasn't at all as if he thought _he_ deserved to be idolized. In a world of important people, he was definitely not one of them. "Yeah. Or Oprah."

Blaine nodded approvingly. "Another palpable candidate _and_ amazing woman."

Kurt half-smiled and tried to forget about it. He didn't have to have an idol if he didn't want one. Fuck "important people" anyway; he was as important as anyone else. Looking at Blaine, he took a deep breath and thought of a random question. "Do you have any pets?"

"I do," he nodded and smacked his lips. "She's a little, blonde tabby cat that sheds like crazy, sleeps more than any other cat I've ever seen, and will only let you pet her if you bribe her with catnip."

"She sounds like a treat," Kurt grinned sarcastically.

"She is; she is. After all, it's why I named her Chelsea Handler."

"Oh, my God," Kurt laughed, shaking his head. "That actually sounds just like her."

"Precisely," Blaine smirked and then narrowed his eyes as if there was something he _wanted_ to ask Kurt, but he licked his lips and ended up deciding against it. "So... what... are you going to be for Halloween?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to one side. "It's the middle of September."

"So?" Blaine asked with a smile. "I have my costume picked out."

"Let me guess. A fresh out of college interior designer with a coffee addiction?"

"_No_," Blaine rolled his eyes playfully. "But that's what you should go as."

Kurt barked out a laugh, but shook his head. "Unfortunately, with the people at the Halloween parties I go to, you have to be a _little _more obvious with your costume. And a lot more slutty."

"Well," Blaine shrugged a shoulder and scrunched up his nose.

Kurt knew how hard he was smiling and quite honestly, he didn't want to ever _not _be smiling that hard again. It was almost as if he was having the revelation that if you're not happy, why even live? As cheesy as it sounded, that's just exactly how he felt. "Seriously though, what are you going as?"

"First, I'm considering counting that as your question-"

"You shouldn't."

"-and secondly... a sushi roll."

Kurt thought about that for a moment before approving. "That's... actually pretty genius if you can pull it off."

"Oh, I can," Blaine brought his cup to his lips, but didn't take a sip. "Wait a second." He set his cup down on the small, wooden table in front of them and reached into his pocket to pull out his cell phone. "I think I have a picture..." He began flipping through his photos, sighing after about twenty seconds of not finding the right one.

Kurt watched in anticipation and admiration. Blaine was so normal, so completely down-to-earth and humble, yet he still fascinated him. It was like Kurt had gone on for so long thinking that anyone who didn't own a sports car or go to Hollywood-thrown parties was a waste of a human being. Blaine was quite literally changing his mind, and Kurt didn't doubt that it was for the better.

"Dammit," Blaine muttered. "It's not on here, but I assure you I will look so much like sushi that fish are going to think I'm related to them."

"Uh-huh," Kurt said doubtingly.

"Hey, I'm serious!"

"I find highly suspicious that you couldn't find the picture." Kurt was joking, but it was clearly making Blaine antsy, and it was altogether rather hilarious.

"I- oh, my God. I. Am being. Serious."

"Whatever you say, Anderson," Kurt tilted his head back and took a long sip of his coffee.

"I have it at my house!" Blaine argued, trying desperately to win such a silly argument.

Kurt paused and didn't even realize where this was going when he asked it. "Are you suggesting we go see it?"

"I-If you want," Blaine raised his pitch slightly at the end, making it sound more like a question than an actual statement.

Kurt was calm, but only because he didn't have time to freak out about it. Secretly, his head was reeling with excitement and confusion and nerves. "Okay."

"Okay?" Blaine asked cautiously, watching Kurt stand up, chug back the rest of his cappuccino, and toss it in the trashcan.

"Sure," Kurt shrugged. "I'm not busy."

"Okay," Blaine repeated, grabbing his coffee and wallet off the table and following Kurt outside.

Blaine lived about twenty minutes away from Kurt in Florence County and rented the bottom floor of a split-level home, his landlord Kia literally living right upstairs with her boyfriend Mag. Blaine said he didn't understand why they needed to rent out the other half of the house anyway since they seemed to be doing quite well off, but they were super nice and rented it to him cheap, so he had no qualms. The only thing he claimed to envy about people with their own homes was the use of the garage.

Kurt tried desperately not to judge Blaine based on where he lived, he really did. But as much as he pushed the thoughts out of his mind, he knew they were right there, finding the idea of living in the basement of someone else's house utterly impossible. He didn't know how Blaine could do it.

No one else was home when they went inside, and despite the rather impressive landscaping, the inside of the house seemed so much nicer and homelier, especially Blaine's floor. Kurt realized this was the first time he was seeing not only Blaine's real life, but also a certain aspect of his work as well. He wasn't a decorator, but it went hand -in-hand with designing, and Blaine found it to be a big part of his job.

The living room, which was the first thing they saw upon going downstairs reflected that of a very tidy, but definitely personable man. Two tan loveseats faced each other, separated by a small, square table that had a lovely blue and green tablecloth draped over it. There was a bookshelf up against the back wall and a huge canvas of _Campbell's Soup Cans_ by Andy Warhol on the opposite. Kurt giggled a little when he saw it.

"I just love that painting," Blaine clarified. "I don't know; it's kinda funny."

"No, no," Kurt shook his head because Blaine was trying to explain something that he totally already understood. "Warhol's a genius, right? If you can make soup look cool..."

Blaine smiled so honestly, Kurt had to look away.

There was a small TV in the corner, and Kurt was in total awe that it wasn't the main attraction in the room. He actually sort of loved the idea. Also, he wondered if this was how Blaine saw every room he went into: like it was some tangible thing that could be molded and made to look like someone could actually be a part of it. Because if anything, Kurt definitely saw Blaine in the room.

He followed Blaine into his bedroom, and although much smaller than Kurt's, it was so much more obvious that someone lived in it. Stacks of books sat on the nightstand next to the small, double bed, a half-full laundry basket hung next to the door to what must've been the bathroom, even the sheets weren't perfectly tucked in. Most importantly, Kurt couldn't see a single mirror in sight. He was almost jealous of the room.

Kurt sat down on the edge of the bed as Blaine shifted through his closet to look for the costume, and there was even a smile on his face as he waited. And the weirdest part about the whole thing was that he didn't even find it weird or nerve-wracking that he was smiling so much; he just enjoyed it.

"Aha!" Blaine exclaimed, pulling out a Walmart bag from under a couple layers of clothes. "I told you it exists."

"Oh, I never doubted its existence," Kurt shook his head. "I'm just skeptical of its overall raw fishiness."

Blaine rolled his eyes with a laugh and started pulling out the attire and letting the plastic bag fall to the floor. From what Kurt could see it looked like a very large, dark green scarf, a shirt of the same color, black pants, and some pink, green, white contraption made out of packing peanuts.

"What do you think?"

"Well put it on!" Kurt instructed.

Blaine huffed and let his shoulders fall. "That requires effort."

"So does making me believe that your Halloween costume is really that fabulous."

"Fine," Blaine sighed and began walking to the bathroom.

"Aw, you're not gonna change in here?" Kurt pouted his bottom lip.

"Uhh-"

"Joke!" he claimed, laughing, but okay, a little part of him wasn't joking because if he could remember right, Blaine was actually fucking sexy with his shirt off, and it wouldn't have hurt at _all_ to see his bare chest again.

Blaine nodded quickly and closed the door to the bathroom behind him.

Kurt sighed and fell onto his back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. So he was in Blaine's house. Okay. They were not there to have sex. Okay. He was not going to take offense to random comments that Blaine may or may not make because Blaine most likely would not mean to say or do anything offense. Blaine was a _nice person_... Okay. Kurt was pretty sure he could handle something as simple as hanging out with a friend at their house, but he still needed to go over the checklist because, well, he hadn't used that checklist very often if at all.

A few minutes later, when Blaine came out of the bathroom, Kurt literally could not stop laughing. He had put on the clothes and then wrapped the scarf around his body, pinning it in place, stuffing the white packing peanuts into the top, behind his neck, and securing the pink and green peanuts to look like various vegetables in the sushi. It was absolutely ridiculous.

"I'm taking your laughter as a good sign," Blaine said, one hand on his hip, causing Kurt to laugh even harder because now all he thought about was Sassy Gay Sushi.

When Kurt found the ability to breathe, he sat up straight and put one hand on his forehead. "You look like a twat."

Blaine gasped, clasping his hand over his mouth. "_I do_?"

"Oh, my God," Kurt laughed again. "No, no, no! Not literally! How would I know! Like... like a douche bag."

"That's not any better," Blaine shook his head.

"Oh God..." Kurt said, thinking about how wrong this conversation had turned. "Now all I can think about is words like cunt, pussy... Why are there so many insults deriving form female genitalia!"

"I don't know!" Blaine laughed out.

"All there is for men is dick! And cock, I guess, but you don't ever really say to someone 'You're a cock!'" Kurt was seconds away from literally rolling on the floor laughing.

"Cock-sucker," Blaine offered.

"Not an insult..."

"Oh, my God. Let's _please_ change the subject!"

"Good idea!" Kurt began to stop laughing and Thank God because he wasn't sure he remembered _ever_ laughing that hard. He was sure to piss himself if it kept up for much longer. "Honestly, I just gotta give you props. You look like sushi."

"Okay," Blaine let out a deep breath. "Thank you."

"Mhm," Kurt nodded, tightlipped to not start giggling again. "But would you please change out of that thing? I can't - I can't take you seriously."

"What!" Blaine asked sarcastically, giving a little spin. "I thought we could take a walk in the park and get some ice cream... Maybe go for a swim..."

"In that thing?" Kurt raised an eyebrow. "If you wanna get shot..."

"Hey, it's not racist," Blaine responded. "I'm half Asian."

Kurt rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide his grin.

Blaine walked back to the bathroom, but he stopped in the doorway and pivoted back around. "Great, Kurt, now you've got me worried that I actually resemble a vagina."

"Jesus," Kurt laughed again. "Ask one of your straight friends or Google it or something. Hell if I paid that much attention in health class."

"I'm not the one that went through a 'butch phase,'" Blaine pointed out and closed the bathroom door, leaving Kurt alone for a few minutes once again.

Blaine spent close to half an hour explaining the project he was starting for work, and Kurt listened eagerly, watching Blaine more than the laptop that displayed blueprints and 3D photographs. Kurt honestly liked listening to Blaine talk about what he did for a living because it somehow seemed so normal, yet interesting from the way Blaine told stories about Kristy and Allen, the young couple buying their first house together, and how they were total hippies who didn't own a car and refused to meet Blaine anywhere that served meat even as a by-product in anything on their menu. Kurt laughed and noticed Blaine's crow's feet that were surely a mark of raising his cheeks too much to smile. Blaine was so _real_, Kurt had to constantly remind himself not to reach out and just touch him.

Kurt knew there was something special about Blaine, something he'd never seen in any other person ever, and that frightened him and made him feel at ease all at the same time. Because as well as understanding and believing Blaine, Kurt trusted him. And that was the scariest part of it all, because that ultimately led to giving power to Blaine to break the trust and in turn, break Kurt.

Blaine had saved Kurt's life, and Kurt knew that in a million years, he wouldn't be able to repay him for that. As much as Kurt hated feeling in debt, he was eternally thankful for it.

Blaine paused for a moment to look up at Kurt, and damn those hazel eyes of his. Kurt had to say something just to break the stare.

"So what do you do when you _aren't _working?" he half-joked, noticing how much of Blaine's time was spent on his job.

Blaine shrugged, leaning against the arm of the loveseat. "I like to read and hang out with my friends, I guess? Watch football? I used to play polo before that got way too expensive..."

"Polo?" Kurt teased. "Isn't that a little... bougie?"

"Says the millionaire!"

Kurt raised an eyebrow because, really? Blaine wanted to go there?

"It's a fun sport," Blaine defended himself, "and if it didn't cost an arm to leg to keep a horse in Los Angeles, I would still be playing with no shame whatsoever."

"Mm," Kurt shook his head, imagining Blaine riding around equestrian style and trying to play such a silly looking game that he thought only existed in England. "At least you got to wear one of those cute riding outfits. Did you play croquet too?"

"No," Blaine laughed, "but I wouldn't be opposed to learning."

"Hm," Kurt grinned, biting down on his bottom lip, and stood up off the loveseat.

He wandered over to the bookshelf and began scanning the quite extensive collection. Other than fashion blogs and gossip magazines, Kurt basically never read. He liked reading, and he could probably make time if he tried, but he always just opted out for the "easier" or "simpler" option like watching the movie based off of the book. But Blaine had obviously been a very active reader. Everything from science fiction to Shakespeare to autobiographies to romance novels rested on the bookshelf, some up straight, some leaning against others, and many just piled on top of each other. It was actually rather fascinating.

Reaching for a big, purple book near the bottom, Kurt read the front and raised an eyebrow at the title. _The Complete Book of Astrology_. He held it out for Blaine to see. "What the hell is this?"

"Oh, I love that book!" Blaine exclaimed, closing his laptop and setting it on the square table in front of him. He reached out his hand but didn't move from his spot on the couch. "Here, let me show you!"

Kurt was in no way going to give Blaine that book so easily. Besides it being full of absolute bullshit, Kurt simply didn't believe in astrology. It was number seven on his list.

"What sign are you?" Blaine asked when Kurt didn't move.

"No," Kurt shook his head. "You are _not_ telling me my future."

"It's not your future, Kurt. Come _here_."

Kurt rolled his eyes and began putting the book back where he'd gotten it. "Whatever it is..."

"Let's see," Blaine began anyway. "You were born in March, right? So that means either pisces or aries... Aries would be the obvious choice. Quick-witted, yet quick-tempered. But I don't know, I think you're probably a pisces for the simple fact that its element is water..."

Kurt rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the fact that his mouth was slightly gaping. "You're making that up."

"I swear I'm not!" Blaine exclaimed. "When's your birthday?"

Even though Kurt was going to brush it off anyway, he was admittedly curious. Blaine either knew what he was talking about or was just messing with him, but he still answered. "March 14..."

"I was right," Blaine nodded with a self-satisfied smirk. "The sign of mystery."

"You're full of shit," Kurt said, brushing it off like he knew he would.

Blaine huffed, walked over to Kurt, and knelt down to pick up the book himself. Opening it up, he flipped around a bit until he found the section on pisces. He ran his finger quickly down a passage, scanning the text, until he found what he was looking for and pointed to the page. "See! Pisces is a mysterious and other-wordily sign," he read.

"Ugh," Kurt groaned, not finding himself mysterious or other-wordily in the least. Astrology was such a joke to him.

"Come sit down, and I'll show you," Blaine insisted, grabbing Kurt's hand and pulling him back to the couch.

Kurt sat reluctantly, his left thigh, hip, and arm pressed up against Blaine's.

"Look," Blaine began, running his forefinger over the page in various places. "The pisces is the twelfth and therefore last sign in the Zodiac. It's a water and mutable sign, and it is ruled by Neptune."

Everything that Blaine said to Kurt was going in one ear and out the other. He didn't understand a word of it. "What's with the picture of the fish?"

"Well, you see they are swimming in opposite directions," Blaine explained. "Pisces often feel they are being pulled in two different ways, making it hard for them to make up their minds about the simplest of matters."

Kurt looked down at the book and huffed. He tried not to think about how that related to him, but he couldn't help it. Still, he took it all with a grain of salt. Anyone would probably think that agreed with them if they were told so by some fancy book, and everyone felt that way sometime in their life. "So how do you know all this; are you a pisces?"

"No," Blaine shook his head, almost finding what Kurt had asked funny. "No, I'm a cancer. I just know a lot about this stuff, I guess."

Kurt then looked up at Blaine and it was so clear on his face how important this was to him. After a deep breath, he nudged him a little with his shoulder. "Go on then. What else does it say about me?"

Blaine chuckled and began again. "Well, pisces are very compassionate and accepting people, and while they are very independent thinkers, they need company and guidance for their creativity to really shine through. It's said that they have the secret desire to turn their fantasies into realities - to live their dreams and connect with the world around them..."

As Blaine went on, Kurt imagined himself as the fish. The fish heading upstream was all of these things that Blaine was describing and even more - the things Kurt remembered being as a kid and in high school. However, the downstream fish was all of things that Kurt had let himself become about a pisces: oversensitive, self-pitying, egotistical. Kurt wasn't quite sure if he liked thinking about this, because what if he could never get back to the upstream-headed fish? What if he was doomed to go downstream the rest of his life?

"What does it say about you?" Kurt asked when Blaine paused.

"Oh," Blaine said, suddenly embarrassed as his cheeks flushed. "Just that cancers are kind of contradictory and moody and yeah, I don't know it's kind of..."

Kurt could tell Blaine was bluffing. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head before looking over at Blaine softly. "Show me," he instructed, glancing down at Blaine's lips before looking back up to his eyes.

"Mkay," Blaine answered quietly, flipping through the pages in the book until he reached the section on cancer.

Kurt looked down and began reading to himself. Apparently, cancers were also water signs, whatever that meant, and the picture on the page was of a crab. As Kurt read, he was completely blown away by how much it described Blaine. "This is totally you, Blaine!"

"I mean I guess-"

"No, seriously!" Kurt exclaimed and began reading a bit of what was in the passage. "'Cancers are the most kind and gentle sign of the Zodiac and are very tenacious and strong-willed. They love to love and constantly wear their hearts on their sleeves. Give a cancer time, and they will turn out to be some of the most devoted and loyal people ever...' That's you!"

When Kurt turned back to Blaine, all of what he'd just said kicked in. Saying that all of that stuff described Blaine meant that Kurt had to have been paying attention to Blaine, which of course he had been, but Blane hadn't known yet. By association, Kurt had just called Blaine gentle and kind and loving without even meaning to. "I mean, you think so, right?"

Blaine was staring at Kurt with a completely genuine smile. Kurt knew he'd caught on.

"Yeah," Blaine nodded, his smile never faltering. "I mean, I don't think I would've become so interested in it if it didn't even match myself."

And as much as Kurt knew this didn't suddenly make him believe in astrology or anything of the sort, it definitely made him see Blaine more clearly, a little insight to what went on in his mind. Once again, Kurt wasn't going to deny how much he wanted to just close the small gap between them and kiss Blaine, but his checklist from earlier was on fire in the back of his mind. Just friends, he reminded himself. Friends don't kiss. That didn't mean he couldn't wonder.

"You hungry?" Blaine asked, and it was so random that Kurt wasn't sure he'd heard him right.

"Hm?"

Blaine finally broke their stare and looked down to close the book in his lap. "Are you hungry? I can make us sandwiches if you want one."

"Oh," Kurt responded, looking down to his own lap. "Fine, yeah. That sounds good." He didn't even know if he was actually hungry. He hadn't had anything to eat yet that day, but he had drunken the cappuccino not too long ago, and actually now that he thought about, he really had to pee.

Blaine was already standing next to the bookshelf, setting the book down atop an already growing stack, when Kurt went to get up.

"I'll be right back," Kurt said before heading off to the bathroom. When he opened the door, he spotted a small, fluffy kitten asleep in the sink, and he laughed when he picked her up and set her on the floor. "Silly, little Chelsea Handler," he laughed, scratching behind her ear a couple times. After relieving himself, Kurt went to wash his hands, all the while only thinking about Blaine and what a good kisser he had been, both drunk and sober. Why had Kurt even offered they be friends in the first place? Blaine would most likely have just as easily agreed to Kurt's boyfriend, and then they could've kissed all they wanted to. Oh right, Kurt thought, turning off the faucet, he didn't like boyfriends. Relationships were messy and people too often were left with broken hearts. What a shame though; he might've changed his mind for Blaine.

Every thought left his mind when he looked up to the mirror.

Kurt scowled at his reflection; the broken nose shone proudly in the light, and as the concealer from earlier was starting to fade away, Kurt's black eyes were coming back into view. He wasn't beautiful by any means of the imagination.

After considering for a moment the idea of just leaving now and spending the rest of the day where no one would have the burden of looking at him, he decided he would at least stay and eat his sandwich. But he surely wasn't sticking around to have any more urges to kiss Blaine or even think of word "boyfriend." Kurt realized what a fucking idiot he was. Blaine didn't want to be his boyfriend! He was being nice to him because he had gotten beaten up and felt sorry for him! It was the only thing that made any sense in Kurt's head. He just, ugh, he hated himself so much for thinking anything differently was going on between them.

He marched out of the bathroom and into the kitchen where Blaine was placing bread and cheese on a George Foreman Grill.

"Why don't you have a boyfriend, Blaine?" he asked randomly.

"Uh- What?"

"You're a nice guy," Kurt went on, heading further and further downstream. "You're attractive by some standards. You're not the richest guy around, but you do fine for yourself."

"Kurt, did something ha-"

"I mean, I'm just wondering what could be wrong with you to make you not have a boyfriend..." Kurt leaned against the small refrigerator and crossed his arms. "Does your star sign shit not line up right or something? Or are you waiting for 'fate' to bring you two together?"

"Kurt, _stop_," Blaine demanded, face constructed with confusion and what could only be anger. "You're insulting me."

"No, Blaine," Kurt shook his head cockily. "I'm just trying to figure out what makes you think you're better than everyone else."

Blaine grew solemn and his words were soft and hurt. "I don't think that."

Kurt bit his lip and let out a heavy breath. He was trying to control his rage, but it just wouldn't work. He had trusted Blaine! How had he broken that trust so easily? "Then why are you 'friends' with me or whatever the fuck you wanna call it? Huh? Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" Blaine asked, clearly wounded by what Kurt was saying.

"Making me a sandwich! Having coffee with me! Everything! It doesn't make sense!"

"I don't- What? What doesn't make sense? I'm just- I thought you wanted us to be friends!"

"Oh, my God," Kurt breathed deeply. He was literally going to have to spell this out for Blaine, and with this anger, he was surely not going to be calm about it. "Why don't you get it? _Blaine_. I look terrible. I am _ugly_." The words pained Kurt so much to say them out loud.

"No, you're not," Blaine said, and it sounded so honest, but that just hurt Kurt more.

"Yes, I am! I've got cuts and bruises on my face, and my fucking nose is crooked and deformed, and I have to walk around with this boot on my foot..."

"Kurt, I don't _care_ what you look like!"

"How?" Kurt snapped. Everyone cared what he looked like. People cared what _everyone_ looked like! It's why Hollywood actors were pretty. It's why John F. Kennedy had been elected president. It's why Kurt got to pose in magazines and walk down runways for money.

Blaine stared at him for a moment, mouth and eyes open in concern. He swallowed before answering. "Because it doesn't matter. Because when I see you, I don't see your face or your hair or your nose. That stuff, just like, after a while, it doesn't matter."

Kurt looked up to the ceiling and forced himself not to cry. What Blaine was saying... that was the stuff from romantic comedies and fairytales. Real people didn't actually think that; there was simply no way. "I, um, I think I should head home."

Blaine nodded and unplugged the grill from the socket. "I'll walk you to your car."

In silence, they walked up the stairs and outside, Blaine one step behind Kurt the whole time. At Kurt's car, they didn't hug or kiss or shake hands. But right before Kurt closed his door, Blaine stopped him and took a deep breath.

"I meant it, Kurt."

Kurt nodded, closed his door, and drove away. He was such an idiot. Worse, he thought. He was an idiot who didn't know what he wanted. Just like the fish. He laughed at the irony.

* * *

><p>AN: So kind of a long chapter? I tried to shorten it, but it didn't feel right. So anyway, thank you for reading/reviewing/favoriting and all that jazz! :)


	9. Chapter 9

_Same warnings/disclosures from Chapter 1._

* * *

><p>Paul had no right to be angry with Kurt. Okay, Kurt supposed, Paul's job sort of depended on Kurt having a job, and Kurt having a job sort of depended on Kurt getting plastic surgery, but that was so not fair! He shouldn't have to change the way he looked just so he could model! That's what was wrong with the media, he decided. Too many people were obsessed with looking pretty. Someone needed to stand up and Embrace The Ugly.<p>

Kurt sighed because that person was so not about to be him.

Hanging up his phone forcefully after a conversation with Paul, he glanced over at the calendar on his fridge. It was the 19th of September, giving him exactly 20 days until the _Cosmo _shoot, and he hadn't taken one single step towards even setting up an appointment with a plastic surgeon. Recovery took at least 3 weeks, so he could've probably just called the whole ordeal off then and there. So much for his dream of modeling with Rick Genest. So much for his anything.

Kurt slumped into a chair in the dining room and grabbed an apple from the centerpiece, but to be honest, he had no appetite.

What would he do if he couldn't model? Sure, if he didn't go crazy with his money, he'd be set for life, but he couldn't just not work for the next 60 to 80 years. Even the parties would turn boring, and that might even happen before he'd stop getting invited to them because nobody wants a Has Been at their party.

Kurt couldn't go work some lame, middle class job. He had no experience whatsoever with any useful skills, and besides that, the thought terrified him. Working a cash register or delivering people's mail? That wasn't something Kurt Hummel did. He once heard that one of the kids from _The Little Rascals _grew up to work in Walmart, and the idea that he might resort to that made him sick to his stomach.

He could be someone else's personal assistant like Paul was for him, but then he'd still be around all the same people but working a not as prestigious job, and that would just be humiliating.

Kurt took a bite of the apple, but it was sour, so he got up to spit it out in the trash along with the rest of it. He walked back over to the centerpiece, carried it over to the trashcan and dumped out all the fruit that had been sitting in it. He suddenly felt a little sad about it because that's all Kurt was really: sour fruit. It still had all the nutritional value, he guessed, but was a few days past ripe, and no one really wanted anything that was old news.

Not even Blaine had called or texted Kurt in a week. Granted, Kurt hadn't really made an effort to contact him either, and he'd sort've been a total ass the last time they'd hung out, but this whole 'friendship' thing was falling to pieces.

Wow. Kurt couldn't even maintain one, solid friendship. What a complete failure.

He went back to bed and slept until the next day.

* * *

><p>Friday morning, Kurt was feeling rather spontaneous. He was sick of sitting around the house all day, feeling sorry for himself, and he decided to get up extra early and do something fun and productive for a change. Maybe it was the cooler weather or the America's Next Top Model episode that had been on before he went to sleep, but Kurt was actually in a good mood.<p>

After a super healthy breakfast, because let's be real, Kurt had been eating more junk food in the past couple weeks than he had in his whole life combined, he slipped on some shorts, a t-shirt, plugged his iPod's headphones into his ears and went for a run.

The breeze rushed past him, and Kurt felt like he was flying. It was still particularly warmer than he liked, but even his sweat wasn't going to stop him. For the first time in months, Kurt was hopeful. Something good was going to come out of this, and he just knew it. He ran past a high school and some ladies walking their dogs, and he literally smiled at whoever he saw. Though he kept those feelings of sadness and disappointment, they were buried too far inside of him for them to have any affect on his current thoughts.

When he got got home, he took a shower, got dressed, and called Finn. He didn't even realize he was doing it until he phone was next to his ear, ringing.

"Hey Kurt," Finn answered. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Finn! Why do you assume that right off the back?" Kurt took a seat, crossed-legged on the couch in his entertainment room.

"Uh, cause that's usually the only reason you call..."

"It is not!"

"Sorry, bro," Finn laughed. "What's up? How have you been?"

"It's irrelevant," Kurt said. "What really matters is how I'm feeling today. Which is great! In fact, I think I may watch _Across The Universe_ and pour myself a drink."

"That's great, dude. I'm happy for you."

"Yes, well I was thinking..." Kurt continued. "You should come out and visit me sometime. You haven't been out here since I moved into my new house, and quite frankly, I don't even think I can call it new anymore. And the weather here is much more delightful than Ohio around this time of year."

Finn sighed. "You know it's hard for me..."

Kurt did feel bad for Finn sometimes. After Carol started the medicine for her PTSD, she had a hard time taking care of herself, and Finn still lived with her to make sure she coped well. Besides Kurt, she had been the one to take the death of his father the hardest.

"Mom can come out too," Kurt suggested, using a term for Carol that he hardly ever did, but he knew Finn liked it when he called her that. "I have plenty of guest rooms, and you can stay as long as you like. We can go to La Jolla and see the seals. I know how much Mom likes that."

"Yeah," Finn answered, but it wasn't nearly as excited as Kurt had been hoping for. "I'll talk to her about it. And I'll check and see how many days of work I'm allowed to take off for the rest of this year."

"Okay," Kurt responded, starting to feel bummed again. "Let me know then."

"I will. And Kurt?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks for calling."

"Yeah," Kurt responded before hanging up his phone. He reminded himself that this wasn't the end of his happiness streak - it was merely a bump in the road. He could get over this.

Kurt then drove down to Rodeo and went shopping for a couple hours. His good mood came right back as soon as he was in Ralph Lauren trying on sweaters and scarves and spending ridiculous amounts of money on clothes. He loved clothing: picking it out, mixing and matching it, and he even had a small collection of drawings for clothes that were completely made up by him. Something about fashion had always been so intriguing to him, even when he was buying knockoffs and lookalikes in high school.

Before he went back to his car, Kurt stopped by Brooks Brothers to pick out something for Finn. He'd found a nice pair of dress trousers and was proceeding to check out when the most perfect gold and red bow tie caught his eye. Kurt had never been the biggest fan of bows himself, but from what he'd seen of Blaine's wardrobe, they were pretty prominent, and he just had to buy it.

This also gave Kurt an idea for how he would spend the rest of his day, but it definitely required some pride sucking up first.

He made the phone call to Blaine when he got back to his house and walked into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of white wine.

"Hello," Blaine answered. It was formal, but Kurt definitely supposed that's how Blaine answered the phone for everyone he knew.

"Hey Blaine," Kurt began, taking a cup down from his cabinet. "How have you been?"

"Fairly well," Blaine answered, still so simultaneously formal and relaxed. "And you?"

"I wasn't having the best week, to be honest. But then today I just woke up and decided: Kurt, today will be a good day. So I've made it one." Kurt knew he was pushing it by hoping that they could just not talk about the last time they'd seen each other, but at least for now, he knew he'd be okay.

"Sounds awesome," Blaine chuckled. "And how have you accomplished that all before 2 in the afternoon?"

"Well," Kurt began, twisting off the top on the wine, "I woke up early and went for a run. I took a shower, called my brother, and then went shopping. And now I'm pouring myself a glass of wine!"

Blaine laughed out now, but never harshly. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I'll just have one glass," Kurt informed him and then realized how unrealistic that was. "For now."

"Well good for you," Blaine said, and it sounded so honest, and maybe he really did care about Kurt. Even just a little.

Kurt took a sip after he poured himself a glass and tried to conceal a smile, despite the fact that Blaine couldn't see it anyway. "So I may be wrong, but if I remember correctly, it's my turn in 20 Questions..."

"Oh my gosh," Blaine laughed again. "How do you even keep up with that game? We started playing like 2 weeks ago..."

"I think they call it an elephant's memory or something...?"

"That must be it," Blaine agreed jokingly. "What's the question?"

In Kurt's mind, he was formulating his best plan yet. He still hadn't paid Blaine back for all the shit he'd given him and the hell he'd raised, and he doubted he'd ever be able to do so, especially owing Blaine his life, but he needed to do something for him. And while a bow tie was lovely, it wasn't going to be enough. "What are your plans for tonight?"

"Hmm..." Blaine seemed to think about the question. "Whatever they would have been, I feel like they are about to change drastically."

Though Kurt tried, he couldn't hide his laughter. "Right you are, my friend. I _know_ you've been having a rough week with your new clients, so tonight I'm taking you on a night out."

Blaine paused, and Kurt bit back a smile in anticipation.

"That sounds lovely, Kurt, but-"

"It's not what you think!" Kurt assured him. "_Trust _me. I've done a little research on the cancer sign, and from what I understand, you guys eat this shit up. You'll _love _it."

"...Should I be worried?"

"Only if you don't trust me!" Kurt knew Blaine had no reason or right to trust him, but once he saw what Kurt had in mind, he would definitely have to. Kurt was practically light-headed with excitement.

It was another moment before Blaine responded. "Told you astrology was a real thing."

"I'll deny it 'til the day I die," Kurt grinned. Blaine hadn't said no which meant he was at least thinking about it!

"I don't suppose you're gonna tell me what exactly this night out entails, are you?"

"It's a surprise, Blaine," Kurt said, having completely forgotten about his drink sitting on the counter. "But like, a really, really cool surprise."

"Then I guess I'm really, really excited to find out what it is."

Kurt put his hand over his mouth so Blaine wouldn't hear his squeal of joy. "So does that mean yes?"

"Don't make me regret it, Kurt," Blaine joked even though, well, Kurt probably did have a record of making people regret doing things, namely Blaine.

"I won't!" he exclaimed quickly. "Blaine's Night Out starts an hour before sundown."

"Wait. What?"

"Don't worry about it," Kurt added. "I'll pick you up just before six. Wear something casual."

"Kurt, now you're _really_ scaring me," Blaine pointed out cautiously.

"_Trust me_."

"Do I have any other choice?"

"Nope!"

"Figured."

"See you tonight, Blaine," Kurt smiled goofily. He couldn't even try to stop himself. He didn't even want to.

"See ya, Kurt," Blaine said, and Kurt hung up his phone.

Pouring his glass of wine down the sink and screwing the top back on, Kurt shook with excitement. He didn't need alcohol to make him happy today at all! His date with Blaine was doing that by itself.

And okay, maybe it wasn't a date. But perhaps Kurt liked it that way. For now at least, it seemed like the best option. They could hang out, maybe go to some romantic place that Kurt had in mind, and not have to worry about commitment. It was pretty much the best deal ever, but it still have him a sort of butterfly feeling in his stomach. It couldn't be nerves though, Kurt convinced himself. He couldn't be nervous! It was _Blaine_.

He really had a lot to do in four hours however, and couldn't think about it much longer. He went to get ready for the night.

Kurt didn't know much about casual wear, but he decided it was just like dressing fancy, except removing a few accessories. Since he could decipher the difference between pleather and leather at the age of six, he'd known fashion was important. It was one of the reasons modeling was so fascinating to him. But getting ready for his non-date with Blaine was a little trickier.

By the time he got out to his car, he'd settled with a pair of black skinny jeans that unashamedly made his ass look perfect, a light blue t-shirt with_out_ the matching vest, and his absolute favorite pair of Frye black leather ankle boots, the medical boot finally able to come off. That, along with the fact that the cuts and bruises on his face had mostly healed up, made it so he couldn't help but feel good about himself.

When he arrived at Blaine's house, and Blaine got in the passenger seat, Kurt's smile was probably too big to seem real, even though it totally was.

"I know you said to trust you, but..."

"No buts!" Kurt explained, turning his car back into drive. "You either trust me or you don't. And _if_ you don't, go on and get out now. But I'm going to Blaine's Night Out with or without you."

"Fine, fine!" Blaine laughed. "I trust you!"

Kurt narrowed his eyes at him, locking the stare for a few moments, and pressed quickly and heavily on the gas to jerk the car a few inches forward.

Blaine didn't flinch and simply raised an eyebrow. "Is that all you've got?"

"It's a half-hour drive, Blaine," Kurt responded. "Can you think of all the places we could end up at in thirty minutes? And you're just letting me take you there with no other clue?"

"Like I said," Blaine bit his bottom lip. "I trust you."

"It's your funeral."

Blaine laughed and sat back in his chair to buckle his seat belt.

Resting his hands on the wheel, Kurt looked at Blaine and really couldn't control his excitement. "Hey, can you do me a favor and open up the glovebox."

Blaine nodded and reached forward, opening up the compartment and asking Kurt what it is he needed.

"Oh, um, can you just take out the like, little blue box on the top?"

When Blaine went to hand it to Kurt, Kurt just shook his head, biting his lip to stop himself from grinning like a fool. "I don't want it," Kurt said.

"But..." Blaine raised an eyebrow.

And then finally, got to say what he'd been waiting for. "It's for you, silly!" There wasn't a lot that Kurt got to give other people since he was so used to getting things instead, but just seeing Blaine's face light up in surprise, confusing, and a little bit of excitement was worth it all.

Hesitantly, Blaine opened the box, looking at Kurt the whole time. When he finally did look down, his jaw slightly dropped and he cooed, "Aww. Kurt. This is so cute! But you didn't have to-"

"Shut up," Kurt rolled his eyes and was pretty sure if there was an Olympic medal for trying not to smile, he would come in very last place. "I wanted to. Plus your obsession is pretty gross."

Blaine smacked his lips and looked up with a half grin. "And you wanted to feed that? How perfectly sick of you."

Kurt just bit his lip, rolled his eyes, and began driving.

On the ride there, Blaine talked most of the way. His current clients seemed to be really pleased with his work, and the more they talked about him to their friends and family, the more out there his name would become. Since he was freelancing, really, his profit came almost solely from talk and free promotion his clients gave him.

Kurt could tell Blaine liked his worked, and as someone who was right out of college, he was doing a mighty fine job of it on his own. But there was something there, something that Kurt noticed about his tone, that gave Blaine away as being a little resentful of it. Maybe Kurt was just noticing nonexistent things, he thought, but Blaine seemed like the kind of guy that, if given the right topic, wouldn't be able to stop gushing over it. Interior design wasn't that topic.

"So when you finish up with these people, when do you get your next job?" Kurt asked, about five minutes away from where they were headed.

Blaine shrugged. "It could be anywhere from a couple days to a couple months. It depends on a whole bunch of things really: the market, the season..."

"What if I hired you to come do my house?" Kurt asked excitedly. He had no idea where that idea had come from, but all of a sudden, there it was, and it was perfect!

"Y-your house?"

Kurt began to worry that maybe Blaine didn't think it was so perfect after all, but he nodded.

"But," Blaine began, a little choked up, "but your house is so beautiful already! I don't wanna, I mean, I'm not going to mess it up or anything. You don't have to let me do that, Kurt."

"I want you to do it, Blaine," Kurt answered honestly. "My house is so boring and so totally not me at all. I've been itching for a change for a while now. And you're the best interior designer I know!"

"I'm flattered, Kurt, but-"

"We'd have to discuss your pay of course," Kurt continued, ignoring Blaine's protest. "I'd expect some sort of discount because we know each other so well. And it won't be the easiest job ever because I can be extremely picky when I want to be."

"Kurt-"

"Blaine," Kurt smiled sweetly at him, trying to get him to just shut up for a second. But all he could see was hazel, hazel, hazel eyes.

Blaine broke the gaze, coughing and informing Kurt that the red light had turned green. "Wait. We're not going where I think we're going, are we?"

"It depends," Kurt said. "Where do you think we're going?"

"Mulholland Drive..."

"Oh, then yes," Kurt smiled. "We are going where you think we're going. But probably not where you think we'll be going once we get to where we are going."

"Huh?"

Kurt laughed and kept on driving.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for reading! This chapter was initially twice this long, but I've decided to cut it in half, so expect the next chapter up in a couple days.

This is where Kurt and Blaine are headed by the way (just take out the parenthesis):

mikelehn(.)com(/)images(/)mulholland-drive-view3-800w(.)jpg

Well, that's where Blaine thinks they're going ;)


	10. Chapter 10

_Same warnings/disclosures from Chapter 1 apply_. 

* * *

><p>Everyone who came to LA as a tourist <em>had<em> to visit Mulholland Drive. Not just because of the movie named after it, but because it was the number one spot to overlook the city of Los Angeles, and there must've been like 100 album covers shot in this one area. It was a classic, so naturally, everyone who actually lived in LA hated it.

Kurt, however, knew people who lived on Mulholland Drive, and therefore had a bit more knowledge of the area, driving past the spot where most of the visitors stopped to see the sunset. Blaine looked over at him suspiciously, but didn't say a word. A few minutes more up the mountain, Kurt pulled off the main road and onto a patchy area of grass and dirt. Turning the car off, he clicked the trunk lock and told Blaine to go out and open it up. Hesitantly, he obliged.

Kurt took the moment to calm himself down. He was still as excited and happy as he'd been when he woke up, but now his plan was actually coming together. It wasn't like he wanted Blaine to think that this was his way of "returning the favor" because in all honesty, this was _nothing_ compared to what Blaine had done for him. But Kurt wasn't going to lie - he enjoyed the idea that he was doing something nice for someone else. Hoping out of the car, he made his way around to the back where Blaine was opening up the trunk.

Inside was a folded up Tuffo blanket and six pack of Miller Lite. Kurt had debated bringing the beer because he knew Blaine wasn't a drinker, but something told him this was no big deal. It was lite anyway, so if Blaine didn't have any, Kurt wouldn't be _too_ wasted if he drank them all. Well, he'd hoped that wouldn't happen.

"I got these," Kurt reached in and grabbed the beer. "Can you get the blanket for me?"

Blaine nodded, taking the blanket out of the trunk and closing it behind him. Smirking, Kurt walked a little ways from his car, looked up, realized it was the perfect spot, and turned back to Blaine.

"Here is good," he told him, watching as Blaine bit back a smile, made his way over to him and began to lay the blanket out.

"You do see all these trees in the way, right?" Blaine asked with a grin. "I'm not certain there will _be_ any sunset to see from way up here."

"Then it's a good thing we're not here to see the sunset then, huh?" Kurt joked, sitting down on the freshly laid out blanket. Patting the empty spot next to him, he looked up at Blaine, who sat down next to him with a shrug. "Would you like a drink?" Kurt offered.

Looking at Kurt, and seeming to think it over for a moment, Blaine continued smiling like there was nothing that could make him happier. "Sure."

Kurt nodded, reached next to him and grabbed two bottles, one he gave to Blaine and the other he opened for himself. After a long sip, he looked over at the other man (who was _still_ staring at him, nonetheless). "What?"

Blaine chuckled. "So this is 'Blaine's Night Out'?"

"Do you not like it?" Kurt asked, his smile faltering greatly.

"No!" Blaine responded like he felt suddenly guilty about something. "I mean, yes! Yes, I like it. It's just... I mean, I didn't expect it. Then again, I didn't know what to expect..."

"So you _do_ like it...?"

"Yeah," Blaine answered, and he was smiling and staring at Kurt again. "It's peaceful. Do you come up here often?"

"Oh," Kurt said, "um, I mean, I used to. I haven't really in a while since I've been so busy."

"Well, I think you should start coming again. You're already ten times happier."

Kurt furrowed his brows together, but then suddenly felt the smile on his face and tried to conceal it. It was too late however, because Blaine had clearly seen. Kurt didn't know if he liked it or not, the fact that he was simply able to be himself around Blaine. Sure, there were the downsides such as the fact that it was making him more vulnerable and that was a feeling he detested, but the positives were just shining through. Kurt hadn't had a friend he could be himself around since high school, and it felt so pure and real to just talk to Blaine and laugh and listen to what he had to said, and Kurt felt himself growing fond of Blaine in a way that he hadn't felt about someone in a very long time. It was scary and exciting and nerve-wracking wonderful all at once.

"So, um," Blaine began. "Do you really want me to design your house? Because I'm incredibly flattered, but really Kurt, you don't have to do me any favors-"

"I'm not doing you a favor, Blaine!" Kurt stated. "You're gonna have to work your butt off, and you're not finished until I like it, which, for all I know, could take anywhere from a week to a couple months. I'll pay you accordingly, but no favors. Deal?"

Blaine paused for a moment, but then nodded. "It's a deal."

"Good," Kurt grinned, internally screaming with excitement. Blaine would be coming over to his house pretty much all the time and, yeah, Kurt could see himself _loving_ that. "Now shush up about it. No more talking about work tonight. We get to just sit back and relax."

Two hours later, the sun had set, and Kurt hadn't even realized it. He'd managed to discuss everything from music to politics to _God_ with Blaine, and he still felt like he could talk forever. They agreed on so many things, and even the things they had different opinions on managed to seem so trivial and unimportant enough that they could find common ground. It wasn't until he shivered that he realized how completely dark out it was.

"You cold?" Blaine asked, sipping on his third and final beer.

Kurt shook his head as his teeth began to chatter. It wasn't that it was particularly cold outside, Kurt just hardly had any fat on his body, and his temperature dropped so easily.

"Here," Blaine began setting his drink down and unzipping his light hoodie.

"You are _not_ giving me your jacket, Blaine," Kurt said, shaking his head and standing up. "This is not a 1980s John Hughes film."

Blaine threw his head back, laughing. "Just trying to be gentlemanly."

"Yeah, well," Kurt stuck out his tongue and headed towards his car. "I have a sweater in my car. I'll be right back."

When Kurt got back to the blanket, Blaine was lying down, arms folded behind his head as he looked up at the sky. Kurt didn't say a word, walked around him and sat criss-cross next to him, just a _tad_ closer than he'd been before, of course.

"You know," Blaine started, looking over and up at Kurt, "you haven't done that _thing_ in a while now."

"...What thing?" Kurt asked cautiously, reaching over to take a sip of Blaine's drink since his was all gone.

"That thing where every other word you say is a curse word."

Kurt frowned. He hadn't realized that he'd stopped, but then again, he hardly realized when he _was_ doing it. He didn't swear to be mean or crude; those were just the words he had to use to get his point across when speaking to people that he worked with or worked for him. He didn't particularly _like_ it, to be truthful. That's just how it was. He began to wonder if perhaps _Blaine _didn't like it, but in that case, he was in the mood to spite himself and grinned. "Fuck you."

Blaine laughed and looked back up at the sky. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Kurt fake gasped because gentlemanly people did _not_ say things like that, and he gave Blaine a light shove as he lay down next to him. Truth be told, Kurt was pretty sure he would _definitely _like that. "Wow," was all he said.

"What?"

"It really has been a while since I've been up here," Kurt explained. "I forgot how perfect the stars were."

"Did you ever go to the Burr Oak State Park back in Ohio?" Blaine asked. "You could see hundreds of constellations from there."

"Yeah!" Kurt exclaimed, and he totally remembered that place! "I used to go there every year for my birthday before, um, before my mom died..."

Okay, now it was awkward and _shit_, he'd just had to bring that up. Kurt tried desperately to not dwell too much because Blaine still hadn't said anything. "I remember every year my mom would ask me where I wanted to go on the night of my birthday, and I'd always say 'The Star Place,' and she would ask if I was _really_ sure, because in her mind, there was no way a 6 or 7 year old boy would want to spend time looking up at the sky when there was a LEGO Land nearby. But without fail, I requested to go there. And I would lay there for hours on end, pretending to be a comet or a spaceship, and I don't know. It's silly, really. I was just a kid, but in my mind, I was _so _much more. I was anything I wanted to be, and I could go anywhere I wanted to go and do anything I wanted to do... Turns out, real life isn't much like that."

Blaine was staring at Kurt by the end of his story, and Kurt wasn't sure if he was smiling or unhappy. He just looked sort of conflicted. "It could be, you know. I mean, if _Kurt Hummel_ can't be anything he wants to be, what hope is there for the rest of us?"

Kurt shrugged a shoulder. "I guess."

Another moment passed, and Kurt was sure there were more stars in Blaine's eyes than in the entire sky.

Out of nowhere, it seemed, Blaine began to sing quietly. "_Look at the stars; look how they shine for you and everything that you do... And they were all yellow._" He laughed at his own corniness, but Kurt didn't feel it was that way at all.

Propping himself up on one elbow, he looked down at Blaine. "Oh, my God. _Blaine_. I didn't know you could sing like that!"

"Oh," Blaine shook his head, waving him off. "I don't. I don't sing like that. I mean, not anymore."

"_Why!_" Kurt asked, flabbergasted. Without a doubt, Blaine's voice, though it had only been a notch above a whisper, was one of the most lovely singing voices Kurt had ever heard. "If that one line of that song holds any truth to it... Blaine! That was really good!"

"You think?" Blaine scrunched up his nose. "I don't know; I've always thought that singing was, um, sort of a waste of my time."

"Shut up!" Kurt shoved him. "You were in glee club! There's no way you thought that."

Blaine shrugged again, and if Kurt didn't know any better, he could see him getting a bit frustrated by it.

"Sing the next verse," Kurt prompted him, and after noticing Blaine's jaw clench tighter, asked again. "Please? Just another line?"

"Okay," Blaine shifted uncomfortably, and cleared his throat, this time singing with more strength.

"_I came along. I wrote a song for you and all the things you do. And it was called Yellow..._"

Kurt had been totally right - Blaine was beyond good! And okay, wow, not to mention the way the moonlight looked on his face as he continued to serenade the stars with Coldplay, and to be honest, Kurt was just fully and completely blown away. Blaine was kind of, like, really _beautiful_.

Blaine must've caught Kurt gaping, which he was, as his voice died out, ending somewhere in the middle of the chorus and appearing embarrassed by his own ability. "I'm sorry..."

"You should be," Kurt nodded. "_I'm _sorry too. Sorry that you waited this long to sing to me."

Blaine opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.

"Not that you were singing _to me_," Kurt corrected himself quickly, looking down at the blanket underneath them. "Just... you know, to sing."

Biting his lip, Blaine caught Kurt's eyes again. "I'm flattered, but-"

"No buts about it, Blaine," Kurt shook his head and rested back down on the ground. "As good of an interior designer that you are, you could sell out stadiums with a voice like that. Why didn't you pursue singing in the first place?"

"Um," Blaine swallowed, "I was going to, I guess. I wanted to do musical theater, but, I don't know, my dad thought it was a useless skill."

"It's not useless," Kurt shook his head, almost automatically.

In his life, Kurt had been told too many fucking times that what he did was pointless or useless or stupid or crazy. And it made him feel like utter shit. Because no, Kurt didn't believe in God or the afterlife, so what he did with his time on Earth better be damn important, and in all honesty, he didn't feel like the past few years of his life had been that. He'd been skittering along in a way, hoping that somehow he'd magically find a way to go back and redo the whole thing.

Blaine smirked, hazel eyes studying Kurt's face. "You make me feel important."

For a split second, as he tried to process what Blaine said and make sure he was still breathing at the same time, Kurt didn't hate himself. He shivered at the thought. "Well, you are. To me." And he really, really didn't know what he was doing, and all he could think about was how wrong it was because they were _friends, _but at that moment, there was nothing more he wanted than to kiss Blaine.

Scooting closer, he found Blaine's lips with his own and closed his eyes.

The kiss was short and chaste, but completely lovely, and Kurt was sure he was smiling like an idiot. It wasn't just passion and lust that was driving him, but intimacy and commitment as well. Kurt was confused and scared, but so, so happy. Just like the pisces that he was... Those damn fish.

Randomly it seemed, Blaine began to giggle. "I'm sorry, it's just, usually your hair is so perfect... Here," he reached his hand up and placed a fallen strand of Kurt's hair back into its place.

Kurt watched Blaine as he fixed his hair, skin flushing with warmth that was impossible to describe. He mouthed 'Thank you' when he was done.

A short moment passed before Blaine spoke up again. "Now it's your turn to sing."

"Oh no," Kurt shook his head, laughing and looking back up at the sky. "Not tonight. Maybe some other time though."

"Hey," Blaine said softly, and Kurt craned his neck to see him. "Thank you."

Kurt really didn't know how to respond because what possibly could Blaine be thanking him for? He nodded and one side of his mouth smiled, hoping that Blaine knew how much he felt the same way.

"Can we talk about what happened?" Blaine asked as he rode in the passenger seat on the way back to his house from Blaine's Night Out.

After considering it for a moment, Kurt realized he had no idea what Blaine was talking about. "...What happened?"

"Well," Blaine began, resting his elbow on the small window sill, "about a week ago, you yelled at me at my house, and then about, ehh, 20 minutes ago, you kissed me."

Kurt was sure his cheeks were flaming red, because he hated the fact that he'd yelled at Blaine after everything he'd done for him. And he was sort of already regretting the whole kissing thing too (but not really, because Kurt could never _really_ regret that).

"Does looking at stars really do that much for you?"

Confused, Kurt turned to look at Blaine, and he was smiling and obviously just teasing, and Kurt let out a deep breath he'd been unconsciously holding in. He simply smirked and rolled his eyes jokingly

"It's funny," Blaine started again, continuing to use that playful tone of voice. "You _hate_ star signs, but you _love _the stars. How does that work out?"

"Stars are _real_," Kurt said, but maybe he was starting to believe in star signs too. He couldn't possibly tell Blaine that though. Duh, because then he would be, like, winning. "And they tell me more about myself than some astrological nonsense."

Blaine raised one eyebrow, but he didn't look offended. "What do they say about you?"

"That I'm small," Kurt answered, trying to keep his focus on the road, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with such an attractive man sitting next to him with the most amazing eyes he'd ever seen. "Really small. Like in the entire scope of things, I'm as tiny and insignificant as a spec of dust, because there are so many things in the entire universe that are exponentially larger than I am... Seriously fucking small," he said, finally facing Blaine.

"Is that important?" Blaine asked, studying Kurt's face like always.

Kurt thought about it for a moment, but yeah, of course it was important. He nodded. "It is. And it's not, in some cases. But overall, it's important to realize how little we all are - how excruciatingly _pointless_ a lot of our problems are. And, for me at least, how whether or not I get plastic surgery isn't going to cause the moon to fall out of the sky or the tides to stop coming in. I'm just some little man, you know."

Blaine grinned politely and nodded, and they were silent for the rest of ride. When they pulled up the outside of his house, Blaine unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to Kurt with a look of genuine gratitude.

"Thank you, Kurt. Really."

Kurt just grinned and shook his head lightly. This had really been nothing in comparison to Blaine saving his life. He could've done a million Blaine's Nights Out, and it would still be inferior.

Leaning forward, Blaine took a deep breath, looked down at Kurt's lips and moved his own there.

It had been unexpected, but Kurt quickly closed his eyes and kissed Blaine back, gently and slowly as to not scare him away with sudden intimacy. It only lasted a few seconds, but when Blaine pulled away, Kurt was pretty sure his head was reeling.

And Blaine was laughing _again_. "Sorry, I just, um, I had to try."

Kurt just looked up at him, waiting for further explanation.

"It was worth it," Blaine nodded and climbed backwards out of the car. "_So_ worth it."

"You're a pig!" Kurt said and really, really couldn't help the smile forming on his lips.

"Worth it!" Blaine repeated once again. "Hey," he paused, fully out of the car with his hand on the door.

Kurt looked up at him expectantly and saw his innocent smile, and it was just to die for. How was Blaine so damn cute all the time?

"You're really special, Kurt," Blaine began. "You're confusing as hell, and you constantly make me want to do crazy things, but you're important to me. Can I call you to set up a time for us to meet? I mean, if you still want me to do your house."

Kurt was too busy processing the first part of the sentence that he almost forgot to nod. And when he did, it wasn't because he was really eager to set up an appointment, even though he was, it was just because he wasn't sure there was anything else he could do. Blaine waved goodbye, and Kurt was still nodding when the car door shut and Blaine was halfway across his lawn. He didn't even remember how to drive for a moment there because '_You're important to me_.' And because '_You're really special_.' And definitely because of that kiss.

He turned the key and realized he was falling for Blaine.

_Shit_.

* * *

><p>AN:

Okay, long author's note. First, I need to apologize for this huge month long hiatus I took from this story. In the beginning, it wasn't on purpose. The first couple weeks of March were pretty hectic for me, and I just didn't have time. And then recently, I lost pretty much all inspiration for writing, but I did have this written. And as of now, I have at least the next chapter written, but I haven't written much since the end of February. Still, I do want to continue writing this, but I fear updates won't be as common. I'm trying to do better this semester in school, and yeah yeah, excuses, but unfortunately writing has taken a back seat among everything else.

I really want to thank those of you who stuck around, and please continue to do so! I'll _try_ to update within the next couple weeks. Thanks again! :)


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